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Now is the Winter

31 Dec

Winter, oh winter. You start after New Years, really. There is a glory and a sparkle to the snow and ice during the holidays. Come Jan 2nd, its nothing but bitter cold with no psychic tinsel chaser.

These wintertime distractions I hold to be self evident-

Winter Fridays are tie days- Also Sat-Thurs.


Winter means obtaining as many sweaters as possible, at deeply discounted prices from cabalistically obscure companies with hard won coupon codes obtained through complex information exchanges on boring mens style forums.


Post sweater binge, I realized I needed storage for all of these woolly body stockings, specifically sweater storage– which then, in its own turn, set off a full closet reorganization which culminates in the invention/creation of a new closet accessory that is not yet to be revealed.

Now comes the drinking and reading-

Port and Aubrey-Maturin


or The Rathbones and Giardini Arimei


Let us also not forget the mulling of everything liquid-


Finally, there is this


Which is the olfactory equivalent of pounding a horn of mead on a moor cliff and drunkenly rolling through the gorse and heather, then plummeting into the sea. Its actually amazing what DS & Durga has done here. It smells so good.

Ok 2014, I’m ready.


Philosophy on tap

10 May

I want Cornel West to follow me around the house and comment on the things I’m doing.

“Petting a CAT? Petting a cat is nothing but stroking the animal you’ve forgotten to be, like slaying the Minotaur in the middle of your mental labyrinth is something you want to FORGET to do.”

“Shining your SHOES? Shining your shoes is the petty creation of a mirror you use to see the reflected space inside yourself that nothing will fill, nothing but a reflection of the emptiness ITSELF. ”



tao of the whiskey bottle

19 Oct

I was feeling down a few days ago, nothing earth shattering, but definitely in a slump. During a rare yet always wonderful break from client calls and contract drafting, I wandered to a local church basement shop. As I walked in, feeling all but completely shunned by the gods of good fortune and random luck, I heard a little voice, cracked and small, say “you’re back! I’ve been looking for you” (I suppose I go to this place more often than I realize, in my mid-work-day haze). The speaker was a tiny old woman I never noticed working there before. She was in fact waiting for me to come back, as she demonstrated by pulling from behind the counter 3 sport jackets. Harris Tweed sport jackets. In my size. I was surprised to say the least. To top it off, quite literally, was a book called Hellraisers: The Life and Inebriated Times of Richard Burton, Richard Harris, Peter O’Toole, and Oliver Reed. I looked at this tiny woman, mumbled a shocked thanks, still not entirely sure how to say “how could you have known exactly what I would have wanted?”, and she replied “Just don’t come crying to me when you go down the bad path and become a drunk!” and cackled merrily.



Digging in a ditch with a shovel and a pick

15 May

Well, would you look at this, Id forgotten I had a blog. I suppose I’ve been occupied by my newly forged and horrendously stressful career path.

Turns out, one can release a lot of pent up anger and repressed murderous intentions with a large garden and a new pick axe. Now that the winter in Vermont has (mostly) crept away, I’m left with what is quickly becoming an overgrown compilation of previous gardeners failed attempts at horticulture. Also, and I had no idea whatsoever about this, burrowing mammals are fond of moving flower bulbs to new, and unexpected subterranean locations.

The thing about gardening in the state of Vermont, it effectively translates to “digging down a foot, and finding a 200 lb rock”. This inevitably leads to a pile of large rocks, which then becomes the material for a wall.  It seems there is nothing New Englanders like more than large, imposing barriers around personal property, though now that I think about it, they may like crab meat more than large imposing barriers (Seriously, these people are part seagull). So, as I am a naturalized Vemonster, I need to start walling off my sacred lands from the invading flatlanders.  Nothing too ambitious. I figure I’ll start small, a few little walls around vegetable beds, then move on to the more complex dry-stacked battlement topped towers in a day or two.

I fully recommend 2 books to those of you who are inclined to such pursuits-

For daunting inspiration.

For the hows and the whys.

And finally, I have proof that Vermont gardening pays off in the end: I found this 1920 silver dime in the same area as a rusted 12 inch iron spike and some broken ink bottles. Oh, the treasures.


Naturalists Eccentricity -or- why i should wear a poncho

23 Jun

A fellow could get away with quite a lot, insofar as wardrobe, in the late 1800s; especially if he was a self proclaimed explorer, adventurer, painter, and orchid hunter, as was Albert Millican. He wrote the book on Orchid Hunting, literally. In the above drawing he’s decked out to clamber around in the jungles of South America looking for plants to send home to rich collectors. In those days, the right kind of Cattleya could buy you a small country home.  I think I could get away with this look today, assuming I dropped the white felt 10 gallon and the coach gun.

Albert Millican


Millican represents my two ideal lifestyles; gentleman explorer, and crazed naturalist (I wore that look yesterday). Who wouldn’t want to dress up like a gaucho and go traipsing around in jungles looking for things to draw/ sell to the highest bidder? Maybe that’s just me.

While I’m on the subject, there is a book out that I’m eager to get my hands on, Field Notes on Science and Nature, a collection from Harvard’s archives of field notes and drawings from the natural sciences. Looks fascinating!

It would seem that all of my misspent years of office drudgery are wearing away at the sharp edges of my once intact sanity. I’ll end up one of those guys that comes to work in exotic skin cowboy boots and lots of khaki, with a multitude of leather belt holsters for fountain pens, smart-phones, dingo bait, etc; all in the hope that one day they’ll find themselves standing at the edge of that jungle, and they want to be ready.  Perhaps its not too late. I need a vacation.