Reflections of Devil's Den

25 November 2007
Milford, CT



Yesterday, frustrated by prolonged close proximity, I needed to get away from the fam for a bit. We went on a hike at Devil's Den Preserve, which is closer to Milford, CT than it is to hell.


We got to the entrance of the trail and after a bit of walking and a tree with boobs, there was a fork. My family zigged, I zagged.

For about two hours, armed with my uncle Jack's Nikon D200, I walked around Lucius Pond documenting my hike and learning how to use the unfamiliar camera.

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Front Porch Rockin' (part 1)

Saturday 25 August 2007

Last Thursday my uncle Bill's gig was canceled so we got together with Anthony on his back porch and had and AMAZING time. I brought Norma (Blonde and curvy with nice hips a tiny waist and a big ole booty; could there be a more fitting name for my guitar than Norma Jean?) and my yet-to-be named mandolin.

We practiced a few of my uncles songs as well as the covers they play quickly leading into a full on front porch jam (although it was actually on Bill's back porch). At one point I picked up the mando and started playing the only 4 chords I know (G C Em D). Anthony, with his usual "whatchu got there" curious smile picked up Norma and asked what chords I was playing. We went on groovin' for a while before Anthony started singing "What's it gonna take for you to come around/to my way of thinkin." Our new chorus evolved into a three part harmony and went into a Bill Golden mandolin solo with myself switching to the tambourine, Anthony still on rhythm. As we continued rocking, I got goose bumps and couldn't help but smile.

Some people pick up guitar to get laid, a la Jimmy Buffett (which I have nothing but respect for). Some to get paid. Growing up, a memory that will stay with me is sitting on my front porch, listening to my uncles play and wanting to be a part of that. I picked up guitar so that I could join in the FP jam session. That's where the magic happens. There is nothing like creating a song as you go; looking at each other, scared and smiling, not knowing where it's headed and holding on for dear life.

TM
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That time I instadated at the symphony: Some Good Grass

24 July 2007

Two Saturdays ago, Ricky Skaggs and the Kentucky Thunder played with the Columbus Symphony Orchestra on the front lawn of the Chemical Abstracts Building. I decided to ride my bike down to figure out how they mix a bluegrass band with a symphony.

When I got there I learned that it was $22 with no student rate. What's more, they weren't going to let me stand outside the fence because I could still see and hear the music. Bump that. So I make my way down the fence and out of site of gate only to see police officer handing a pair of tickets to two girls over the fence.

As he walked away, I asked, "Man, what do I have to do to get free tickets? Just stand here and look cute?"

One of the girls held out her hand and said that I could have her's but I declined.

"No way. That's a $22 ticket. I am not taking it from you."

Just then the girls took two steps back for a girl-girl conference. Judging by head shakes and hand gestures...Girl A looks to Girl B and tells her she doesn't want to go. Girl B then, with a pleading expression (head tilt, ruffled brow, big eyes, shrugged shoulders) asks her to stay.

All of the sudden they start arguing in what I would later learn to be chinese. For about five minutes they argued as I stood idly by. Finally it stops and Girl A holds out her hand again and says, "Here, Yan would like you to take her to the concert."

What?

Girl B convinces me with a shy smile (would have cracked for less).

I still didn't know what was really going on until after we walked in but it became clear by the Graeter's stand placed next to the entrance that it was going to be an ice cream night (you know I can't keep walking with that black raspberry chip staring me down. More on that in a post to come). Yan wouldn't let me pay. I figured it was the least I could do for the free ticket and all.

Ice cream in hand, we found some good grass in the center of the field and listened to the symphony play the "Hokey Pokey," "The Chicken Dance" and some other "classical pieces." Ricky Skaggs and the Kentucky Thunder came Kentucky Thundering out on stage after a short intermission. They were amazing.

While sitting with Yan, She explained how she knew nothing about bluegrass music so I schooled her up on the pieces I know about it. We noted its similarities to celtic folk music as well as blues and jazz as we took in the melding of the two seemingly incompatable styles. If you get a chance to see a bluegrass band and and a symphony play together, TAKE IT.

Yan was a masters/PhD student at OSU and when I asked about her focus she replied, "I am studying biochemistry. Scary, huh?"

"No actually, as a zoology major and I studied organic as well as biochemistry and quite enjoyed it."

That was apparently the right thing to say because she sat a lot closer for the rest of the night.

After the show I was to meet up with Jerrod, so I walked Yan home, exchanged numbers, took a photo together and had a small kiss. She giggled and ran inside.

Still not sure whether she was my Asian conquest or I was her American conquest. Never heard from her again.

I guess I can check "impromptu date with stranger"off the list...

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That time I went to Canada Part 4: A good ride

8 July 2007

While in Canada I wanted to make sure to go mountain biking at Canada Olymic Park. My aunt Kathleen, ski instructor by winter and mountain bike camp counselor by summer at COP, didn't believe that I had ever ridden a bike, much less on dirt so we went on a test run in a local dog park. Besides being a great place to let your dog run off it's lead, it was a great place for some quick off-roading. Kathleen showed me how to use my weight going up and down the hills and when to use which brakes--things that I already sorta knew but never really paid much attention to. For example, when riding down a hill, if braking, don't ride the rear brake because you will skid and lose control. Instead, go light on both breaks and lean over your back wheel. Unless you want to go fast, then it's weight forward, no brakes.

Either way, we were riding along this pretty high ridge and the path was pretty narrow, and when we first went out on to this path my immediate thought was "Wow that would suck to fall off. You wouldn't stop."


So we are riding along, la di da, and all of the sudden I jerk the wheel a bit to the right over a tree root and as a reflex, correct it by turning to the left.

There was nowhere to go on the left. Over the edge I go.

Yaaaaaaa-hoo-hoo-hoo-hooey!!!

I kind of sideways go-go-gadget ejector seated the bike, somehow found my way to my ass after rolling and somersaulting down the hill and slide down probably ten or so meters. Finally there was a small bush that I was able to grab on to stop myself from sliding the rest of the way down the cliff.

When I finished, both sliding and cursing, I made sure to yell up to Kathleen because she probably thought she had killed me and wouldn't have been able to see me through all the brush and trees.

After collecting myself, I had to climb all the way back up splintered ass and all. I couldn't just walk it either, I had to grab on to bushes and tree roots and climb my way, hanging on for dear life. When I finally got to my bike I had to lift it over my head to get it up to the ledge we were riding. With the bike frame high as I could reach and a not so strong footing, I almost fell backwards down the hill again. Luckily, Kathleen was able to grab the bike and I was able to get back up to the ledge. Deciding that I was good to go, we rode back (standing up) so I could ice my ass.

All in all a good ride.
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That time I went to Canada Part 3: The Chucks

7 July 2007

If you have not been to a Chuck Wagon race, or worse, never heard of a Chuck Wagon race, drop what you are doing, drive to Canada and find one.

A chuckwagon is the wagon that carried food and supplies across the prairies in the US and Canada to feed settlers and cowboys. The "Chuck", generally consisting of beans, salted meat, potatoes and biscuits, was easy to prepare for large groups of people and generally did not go bad on the way. As a celebration of the Chuckwagons, the Calgary Stampede's main event every night is the Chuckwagon Races.


In a chuckwagon race, a chuckwagon, pulled by four horses, is loaded with the tent posts and stove that is set outside the wagon. Once loaded by the outriders, the wagon must race around barrels making a figure 8, then once around the track to the finish all without losing the tent posts or stove. The outriders that load the wagon must mount their horses and finish the race as a team with the wagon.

The Calgary Stampede is kind like the Super Bowl of the chuckwagon racing circuit. The big show. And we had a front row spot right along the rail. My favorite part about outdoor live music is when you can feel the bass drum in your chest. In the same way I liked being able to feel the beat of the thundering hooves. Dale, Kathleen and I bet would bet a loonie or a toonie on each race. Dale ended up winning it all, but the jokes on him. It was his money.

I enjoy horse racing of all sorts, but this may be my favorite. I think it is the team aspect of it, the four horses and the driver and the outriders as well as having to finish the race together. It makes for a lot more to watch than most other types of horse racing that may have to rely on a back story to build excitement.

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That time I went to Canada Part 2: Stampedin'

6 July 2007

Did I mention that this week is the week of the Calgary Stampede. It's basically like a Canadian Carnival but instead of masks and religion, there are cowboy hats and chuck wagon races. The whole town shuts down for ten days of drinking and cattle driving, minus the cattle driving. News anchors even wear their western attire on air as they deliver updates on the rodeo and chuck wagon races. Every day there are many live bands, parties and a huge rodeo. More importantly, if you can find yourself in a corporate function, you will find all of the free beer and brisket you could ever want.

(side note: Did you know that Canadian beer has a higher percent alcohol than its American Counterparts?)


Last night, I went to the Stampede's sneak-a-peak night. I fit right in with my black boots, hat, new Wrangler shirt and big belt buckle. The first party of the night was a Conoco Philips party. Stuffed with beef and beans and not quite in a talkative mood, I stood by the bar to make sure everyone, myself included, got enough to drink.

The next party was hosted by Dale's company. It was in a historical town set in the 1800's. It had a steam locomotive that went around the park and a lake with lots of sails boats. Again, open bar, delicious brisket, and live music. The first band was a fiddle band. There were probably 20 fiddlers on stage playing as quick as lightning.

Then came a guy named George Canyon. He was on that Nashville American Idol show and something of a big deal in Canada. After one song I could see why. He had the entire tent two-steppin' and hollerin' for the rest of the night.

I must have looked pretty believable in my cowboy gear because a man I was talking to asked if I was from Conoco which is based in Houston. I kind of nodded and we had a good talk about the oil business and Connie and his kids as well as the bachelor life; the life he apparently wished he was living. As soon as my drink was empty, I excused myself to go get another. He handed me a business card and asked me for mine. I told him that I had forgot to grab more before leaving the hotel, but gave him a number and told him to call me the next time he was in Houston on business. Maybe we could catch an Astro's game and grab a few cold ones... Read more!

That time I went to Canada Part 1: Seattle to Canmore

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5 July 2007

Yesterday after watching Joey "Jaws" Chestnut bring the Mustard Yellow belt back home, Uncle Dale and I set out from Seattle to Canmore, Alberta by way of the Idaho pan handle and Kootenay National Park. With nothing but mountains and lakes to look at for most of the trip, it was the prettiest drives of my life. We arrived around 10pm MST and the sun was still out, so, Bacardi and Coke in hand we sat with the Three Sisters to greet the night. Read more!

That time I missed my flight: Yeah...PM

Thursday 27 June 2007

Every Wednesday a bar called Scarlet and Grey Cafe hosts a huge hippie party involving some clothes, lots of hula hoops and hugs. The soundtrack to this madness is provided by Mike Perkins and his accompanying band, which changes from week to week, but almost always includes John Zuck (a bass player with 30 fingers and 18 strings) and Randy Browne on keys. From time to time Jerry DePizzo (OAR) brings his saxophone out for a Wednesday night session along with various percussionists to keep the heads boppin' and the beats poppin'.

This summer we had become regulars at the weekly party and this Wednesday was no different. While at the bar, J-Dogg comes over to me, looks at me and says:

JD: Dude, I love her
TM:I know dude
JD: I love her and I gotta tell her
TM: Okay
JD: Tonight
TM: Let's go

Mind you its 2AM, said girl lived in Dayton (an hour away, if you drive fast) and I had a flight to Seattle for my grandparent's 50th anniversary the next day.

The Dogg, Myself and our buddy Schulz hop in Ole Reliable (Justin's blue Buick which, despite its schizophrenic radio and huge ass, gets great gas mileage and has never let us down) and race to Dayton with Peter Gabriel as the obvious soundtrack of this adventure. Arriving somewhere in the neighborhood of 330AM, Schulz and I leave the Dogg for his "Say Anything" moment of glory armed with a cell phone, a pocket full of bottle caps and his naked soul (all to throw at her window).

Back at Schulz's place, just as I close my eyes for a full night of college couching, I get the call.

"Dude, it didn't work, let's get out of here."

Back in the car and on the road by 445AM, my phone rings with the ID indicating Dad. I answer:

TM: Mornin' Pop, what's happening
Dad: Where are you?
TM: What's it matter?
Dad: Where the hell are you?
TM: Dayton, why?
Dad: What part of Dayton?
TM: What difference does it make? Dayton's Dayton
Dad: We're going to the airport at 5...
TM: Yeah, PM...
Dad: No...AM you have 45 minutes to get your ass back here and to the airport, Plane leaves at 6

(sidenote: My dad is an olive skinned, dark haired, dark eyed italian badass. He doesn't generally say a lot, and when he's pissed he says even less)

Fueled by adrenalin, fear, and the All-Powerful Catholic Guilt (Catholic guilt is intensified 100 fold when it's your grandparents that you are letting down), we make the trip in a Dayton to Columbus land speed record of 43 minutes.

Obviously I had not packed yet, so, ripping through the house like Hurricane Ike through Columbus, I managed to pack for my two week (week in Seattle, week in Calgary) trip (guitar, cowboy boots, toothbrush) in about 3 minutes.

Back in the car by 535, the heat is on to get to the airport, run through security and board that sucker.

To the airport exit off of I-670 in record time, again; high-fiving our awesomeness and with a feeling of conquering the world, I miss the exit.

We drive through the cloud of profanity fogging up the car (throwing F-bombs like Nolan Ryan throws strikes) to the next exit a mile away. Turn around and just as we are nearing the west bound exit, I get the call.

"Mike, its too late. Go home." Read more!

That time I got my ear pierced: Stranded in Oxford

16 March 2007
Oxford, OH

Stranded in Oxford, OH the Friday after Green Beer Day '07

The first day of spring break, car packed, ready to roll. We head on over to Central to join the Key West caravan (two other SUV's filled with 13 world-class synchronized skaters). The smell of burning rubber followed us the few blocks from the Sands to Central Perk and the Jeep was not driving like a vehicle at the dawn of a 20 hour race for the Keys should have been. We stopped to take a look and kick the wheel once or twice and found that the driver-side brake had locked up.

It became obvious that we could not ride the brake all the way down to Key West and we had to bail on the caravan to get the car checked out. 5pm on a Friday in Oxford meant we would have to wait until the morning until someone could check the car out and hopefully get her rollin' again.

Being that we were stuck in Oxford, OH. And being that the whole town was empty. And being that it was the first night of spring break. We took it upon ourselves to find an adventure. Short on ideas we began to walk uptown and somewhere between the Sands and High street I had been convinced that I needed to have my Rook pierced.

There are two piercing places in Oxford: The one you go to, and the one you don't.

Thinking we knew which was which, we headed east up High and down the steps to a friendly looking place. Several people were hanging out and shooting the shit as a man was having a dragon tattooed in his calf. It was my first time in a tattoo parlor and for the most part it reminded me of an old barber shop: some work getting done, music playing softly in the background and a group of guys talking shit and arguing about nothing.

I told the guy I wanted my rook pierced. We picked out the jewelry, signed a paper and I was led to the back room and a table to lay on.

With a pinch and a pop I could feel the stainless steel needle guide the barbell through the thick cartilage.

"Well that's wasn't so bad..."

Right then I heard something hit the floor with a non comforting F-bomb. The bomb and the barbell, both dropped by the man entrusted to put a hole in my head, sent me into a sudden panic.

"What do you mean oh fuck?"
"Nothing I just dropped the barbell. It's all good. Just lay down."
"What do you mean you dropped the barbell?"
"It's no big deal, we'll just re-pierce it."
"Re-pierce it? We aren't re-piercing shit, you only get one shot at this and you blew that."

I stood up to leave and immediately had to lay back down. I began to sweat profusely to the point that I needed a wet washcloth over my brow. We decided to take five.

When he came back, and I was feeling better, he sat down and asked if I was ready for round two.

"What part of You only get one shot didn't you get? I am out of here."

Recognizing that he had in fact done half of the job, I threw $20 (half the agreed upon price) down, walked up the stairs out the dingy basement of the red steps and got a Lottie Burger.

There are two piercing places in Oxford: The one you go to, and the one you don't.

The next morning nothing had necessarily changed with the car, but the smell was gone and the brakes seemed fine. That being all the encouragement we needed, we packed the car back up (three trash bags full of clothes, two guitars, a wakeboard, a kite board, three ipods and three bros) and got the hell out.

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Eric Drops the Caramel

20 March 2007



While in the Winn-Dixie on Key West, Eric decides to toss the caramel in the air and then not catch it.

For those of you that can't understand a word this kid says...

"Aisle 8," with a quizzical look on his face
"Well, I was gonna have some fun. Toss to myself...Didn't work out to well."

(Indecipherable jumble of noises, probably in the language of gorillas)

"Spilled a little bit" A little bit? You spilled the whole goddamned thing.

"I'm kind of mad about..." (something, again indecipherable)

Notice that even though Eric exploded the caramel all over the supermarket floor, he is still trying to eat some of it from that shard of glass. Not unlike a grizzly bear trying to get the honey out the hive. No time to worry about the stings. Read more!