Travel Inn: No Vacancy

I traded McDonald's and their free wireless for Joe Patti's Seafood Market which according to Yelp is the best spot in Pensacola for fresh seafood. Welp, Yelp didn't tell me they'd be closed at 7PM on a Friday...

Sam's Seafood across the street was not closed, however, and had a sign that boasted "best grouper sandwich in town." I'll tell you what, that was the best grouper sandwich I have ever had in Pensacola, FL.

After that I thought it would be nice to go to a cheap motel, lay on a bed and watch TV.

Nope.

Consuela Garmin led the way to Travel Inn. Sounds safe enough right?

I went in and slid my $32 (20, 5, 4 x 1's, 7 quarters, 7 dimes, 9 nickels, 10 pennies) through the bullet-proof glass.

On the way to my room, across the street and around back to a parking lot walled in on three sides, I met five of the locals... Four of them asked if I was partyin' tonight: weed, coke or boys/girls? With one insisting that I was ripped off and should have stayed in his room. Would have only cost me $10.

Notice the duct tape over HBO

If I could just get to my room and lock my door, I'd be safe. Right?

Wrong.

My room did not have a lock. The dead bolt was missing. The latch was broken and the lock on the door knob did not latch.

Needless to say, I got the hell out of there.

When I told the sad looking man that I would not be staying and asked for my money back, he asked why. I told him my door did not lock. Not satisfied with my response, he asked if there were a lot of people out there, with a knowing look.

I nodded and he slid my money back.

On the way back to my car the first man I met came back up to me:

Hey man, you find your room?

Hey man, where you going?

Hey man, like weed?

Hey man, you gonna sleep in my room?

Hey man, gotta couple bucks, I can get a bowl of noodles.

After I was in my car, a woman with no teeth or clothes came up to me:

Hey man, come here.

Hey man, I need to talk to you.
NO YOU DON'T

Hey man, wanna f*ck?

Hey man, come back here!

F*ck you man!

I sped off to the nearest Walmart Bed 'n Breakfast, parked and listened to the rain soak Lucy through the night. Read more!

Should I stay or should I go?

I am on vacation until Thursday. As such, I had planned an exploratory journey along the gulf coast starting in Pensacola at the Naval Aviation Museum and ending in New Orleans.

While I was at the museum, I found out that the Air Force band was having a free show, including a catered dinner. I was set to go and then asked to leave because cut-offs do not count as business casual. Not to be deterred I found the nearest thrift store to purchase a pair of pants so I might gain entry to the concert.

The first Thrift Store I went to, Classy Cat Thrift Store, was not open.

On my way to the second, Salvation Army, a sure thing, I got a call from a 305 number. 305 is the area code for Miami and the FL Keys. It was a place I interviewed with in the Keys to offer me an internship AND an instructor position from Jan-May.

Holy smokes! Excellent news right?

Maybe.
This whole week I have agonized over getting this job and whether I would/how to leave my current situation, and gone back and forth between being really excited about staying in GA and miserable over it.

There are reasons to stay and reasons to go, and at this point I can barely see straight (partially due to the rain that continues to blast Lucy’s windshield and partially due to the news I’d just been dealt).

I get to Salvation Army and it's a grocery store now. They don't sell pants.

Confused and defeated I have taken refuge in a local McDonald's which I know from my couch-surfing days has free wi-fi. Here I can look up other sweet shit to do in Pensacola. I don't have any idea where I am staying tonight and until I figure that out, I can't exactly get on with my evening. I am half tempted to go get a sixer or three and go to a cheap motel and watch TV for the rest of the evening.

If I decide to go work in FL, I should probably go right back to GA to tell them in person. As it stands the next time they will see me is the first day of the next term of service.

I knew this was going to happen. I knew I was going to get this job and I knew it would be too little too late. If I don't take it I am going to be disappointed in myself for continuing on more predictable path. Currently I am staying afloat and I don't know if there's any way to do that in Florida (figuratively, obviously I could just go into the ocean and float all I wanted). Read more!

26

Today I turned 26. Read more!

I am here for the ladies.

Last Saturday night, I saw my first female...turtle, that is. Melissa and I had just gotten off the beach after an exciting turtle walk, topped off with the capture of a particularly pissed off ghost crab. As we were leaving the parking lot we heard, "We have emergence 202, next will be 203" windily crackle over the radio.

Without hesitation we turned left out of the beach deck parking lot and sped down Beachview Drive, stopping at the Hampton Inn and then at Glory Dock to get back to the sand and spot the latest lady.

No turtle.

Finally, we were able to get a hold of turtle patrol who had previously been too busy with their new mama turtle. She was just north of the convention center, no more than a kilometer from where we had started. Again, we raced in 1960's Batmobile fashion (theme music and all) back up Jekyll's coast to find our lady loggerhead.

We got there while she was still digging her nest chamber. Soon after, she started dropping egg. At that point, with mama in a trance, we were able to approach her and watch as this lady laid in the moonlight. 45 minutes later, she started to close up shop and Turtle Patrol went to work, dressing her with her flipper and PIT tags, and taking a skin sample for a mitochondrial DNA study.

When they got what they needed it was off to the next one for Turtle Patrol.

I stayed to see her off to sea. The nesting ritual has a spiritual quality. This same ritual has gone on for millions of years; far longer than any of the world's religions. This turtle doesn't know about environmental policy or coastal development. She knows about eating, mating and nesting and does as she always has (since she was about 30 anyway) and as the millions of generations of sea turtle before her had.

Until then, I hadn't seen a nesting female sea turtle. I have been working in sea turtle conservation for the better part of a year and always felt kind of like a poseur. The people I have worked with both in DC and in South GA had not just seen it, but seen it hundreds of times. They all, though, remember their first ladies, just as I will remember JICc78, and get just as excited with each emergence.

I have included a key for those of you having trouble deciphering the phone pic taken through our night vision monocular (Sarah Hoyt)

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Faces of Kam

I was trying to describe this face via Skype:

This is what came out:

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Two Pieces of Trash

As a 5 year old, itching to get to the pool, bound by the back seat of an '89 Mustang, I would get mega-annoyed by my mother's constant stopping to pick up "just one more piece of trash." I couldn't understand why she would pick up one piece of trash, let alone many pieces, or even, every piece she saw.

Twenty years later, I find myself unconsciously picking up trash. Be it on the streets of Washington DC, along a hiking trail, or in the muddy sand of Driftwood Beach, I can't stand the look of garbage on the ground. If I keep on walking, that Catholic guilt that I have been working so hard to get rid of cuts a hole right into my stomach.

The problem here is that once you start picking up trash, when do you stop? Is every day going to be a trash clean up service project? That would turn just about every place you go into a chore.

So as not to pick up trash all day everyday, I have made a goal to pick up and throw away 2 pieces every time I am at the beach (which is every day). This won't make much impact by myself, but if everyone made sure to pick up just 2 pieces of trash every time they went to the beach, we'd surely have clean beaches someday.

This is no Mike Donohoe original, but it's an idea worth spreading.

Happy World Oceans Day!

http://www.theoceanproject.org/wod/
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That time I couch surfed through DC: Sept 15-April 4

From September 15-March 31, I interned with Conservation International's Sea Turtle Flagship Program. Initially I was only to be in DC until mid-December, but I was asked to stay on until the end of March after proving that I was worth keeping for a minute or two.

A lot of blog posts should have come out of this trip, and a lot of blog posts may yet, but to get everyone up to date, I have assembled a collage documenting my time in DC.

DC in 20 run-on sentences/fragments:

September 14: Packed everything I own in to Lucy's trunk, drove through the night, slept in CI's parking garage before showering at Caribou Coffee and showing up at CI's offices bright eyed and bushy tailed. Began living in DC. Ate multiple free meals a week care of CI's multiple meetings around lunch and dinner time. Lost my wallet, no access to cash, got third in a dance competition trying to win $100. Made new friends.

Learned about the metro, battled the Orange line many a morn. Drove across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge on my way through MD for blue crabs. Went out for Halloween, made my costume for free with CI's printer. Celebrated 15 or so birthdays with Moe's Southwestern Grill. Explored the Mall.

Maxed out on samples at each of DC's farmer's markets. Won a free pair of sandals for being hilarious. Took the train from DC to CT, stopping in NYC. Battled the Blizzard of 2010. Made new friends with DC's Surfriders.

Went skiing for the first time at Wisp. Couldn't figure out how to get free falafels,but ate as many as possible anyway. Lived in my car, DC, NoVA, MD. Helped produce SWOT Report, made a music video. April 4: Drove home.

DC was an incredible test of strength. Strength that stemmed from the support of my friends and family. Without their couches and toilet paper, there is no way I could have made it through.

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the milktrix

May 2003


While in Cleveland for a swim meet, I saw a film crew shooting a commercial of a car driving down the road. The camera man was following in an SUV standing in the sun roof. I immediately decided that shooting with the camera-out-the-sun-roof technique needed to happen and the milktrix was born.
The problem with the the camera-out-the-sun-roof technique is that it is apparently illegal on many levels. As we were filming, my ass half-out the roof of my mom's car, I have the driver go around Joe's car so that I can get the shot. Joe was following th posted speed limit of 45 mph which meant to pass him we were banging out about 55-60. This was not a problem with any of the other cars around us except for the police officer.

After we got the shot, we pulled over to thank the police officer for clearing traffic for us...

"Are you guys crazy?" He said, not calmly at all. "I oughta impound this vehicle and slap you with reckless opp."

"Hello officer, I'm Michael and this is Andrea. And we are filming a short for a photogr..."

"You guys were driving 60 miles an hour without a seatbelt, half out the car."

"Officer, I apologize, we just needed that one shot to finish our film and we have gotten it and so we're done."

"Well you have also got a pair of tickets for speeding and failure to wear a seat belt."
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Island Reef Job

I finally got my video application for IslandReefJob.com finished and uploaded. Over 34,000 videos have been uploaded. Some are garbage and some are really really good.

The idea is that you get this job, you go to the island and then you regale the world with your adventures via photos, videos and blog posts all the while drumming up interest in Australia as an international vacation destination.

The question becomes, how do you make yourself stand out in a group of 34,ooo?
Just because I got 15 emails and 30 phone calls in one day telling me that I am the perfect man for the job doesn't mean a whole lot unless I can show them.

I decided immediately upon hearing about it that we weren't going to go with a "talking head" type video application. Also, we were going to shy away from slide shows and pictures of me being awesome in various locales around the globe. Why?

1) Everyone else did that
2) This job is not about where you have been. Its about your ability to present Queensland to the world in an entertaining way. To do that, I have to start by presenting myself in an entertaining way.

I realize that not showing photos of me being awesome, and relying more heavily on imagery than words is a gamble. Focusing on plot, production value and humor did not however cause me to leave out any of the requirements for the video app. Instead, by sprinkling the pertinent information on top of this short, I have gone above and beyond; providing a preview of whats to come, not what has been.

I'm Travelin' Mike, and I'm going places.

Please go to: http://www.islandreefjob.com/#/applicants/watch/QCVC8pKWIV8

Thank you,

TM


p.s. I would like to give a special thanks to Joe Camerlengo for coming aboard behind the camera and Joe Fitzgerald for lending his vocal talents to the production. Both can be found at ThisIsMySuitcase
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That time the boat broke: A day without wake

4 July 2008

A weekend of wake boarding becomes a weekend of creativity when the boat breaks over the holiday. Beached for the day obviously did not mean a day of boredom. Here are some photos documenting our day at the beach.

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That time I went to the derby Part 2

4 May 2008 (continued)




After the race, I had to get back to the car before the others so that I would not be left. I started back to the parking lot only having a vague idea of its location: across the train tracks, near a football stadium before the roller coaster.



The lot was pretty far away and everyone had different directions to it. Not having any time to walk to the bridge to cross the tracks and find the stadium where the car was parked, I quit asking how to get to the stadium and started asking where the train tracks were. I got a lot of, "What do you want to know where the tracks are for?" and "Don't you want to know where the bridge is to cross?" After this, they would go on with their directions to get around/over them. I was just looking for a finger point in the right direction. I'd figure it out from there.

Finally, I asked someone the best way to the train tracks and they pointed me in the right direction. When I got to the tracks there was a fence about 10 feet tall with barbs at the top. It turns out that these things may keep normal people from climbing the fence, but not Mike Donohoe. With a gash on my right hand, and cuts on my leg, wrist and ass I jumped down from a second fence and had finally reached my destination with about a half hour before any of the people in my group arrived. Apparently, they took the scenic route. I made friends with a few 40 year olds that happened to be from Columbus and lived in the neighborhood I was living in when they were my age. They also happened to be giving out free Long Islands.

Following the LIT's things get a bit hazy...It seems that my friends found me. They were amazed by the fact that I was able to get back on my own and were worried that they were going to have to get the police to find me. We went to a pizza joint and parked around back. Then, when we tried to get out of the parking lot, we came up against a locked gate about 8 feet tall. Being as I was a veteran fence climber, I hopped it no problem only to come to a second locked gate identical to the first. When I finally got over and jumped on to the main road, I looked up to see Jamie, Kyle, McNugg and and Jenna standing there waiting for me. They had gone around...

We rolled up into the restaurant and were seated. While they ate, I napped, not necessarily on purpose. When I awoke I saw that there was no more pizza left and more importantly there was karyoke going on. Sensing a second wind, I quickly hopped up to put our name in.

Jamie and McBaby, not wanting to sing, went to sit in the car. Kyle, Jenna and I went up when they called my name and grabbed the mic. They asked what we were singing and I told them not to worry about it; the words would be on screen soon enough. An Asian girl came up and asked if she could sing with us too, so I put my arm around her and we began to sing with the bouncing ball. She sang with us until we got to the first chorus "And I'm proud to be an American where at least I know I'm free/And I won't forget the men who died and gave that right to me..." That's when the Asian girl left and the rest of the bar got on it's feet. Arm in arm with the entire bar, we finished the song to high fives, whistles, cheers...my first standing ovation.

Without a word and without looking back, we dropped the microphones and walked out...
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That time I went to the derby Part 1

4 May 2008

Its kind of amazing how you can feel such relief for one month being over and a new one starting. April was a rough month and for the most part an adventure drought. All I can say is "Thank God for May"

This past weekend, Kyle and I were heading down the the Derby, so we made a pit stop in Oxford Friday night. We pretty much set the town on fire, I am not going to regale you with the story because I don't want to ruin your image of me as a sweet dude. The next morning we woke up on Paige's floor. After much groaning and some wide mouth Aquafina's we were on the road to Louisville and the 134th Kentucky Derby.

2 hours later, and probably 3 hours after we said we'd be there, we pull up to J-mo's house, put in a hug and a hello to with parents and jump into his mom's van. Within 10 minutes we have reached our tailgating destination.





Almost before putting the van in park, it's time for Mint Juleps with homemade mint syrup from hand picked mint. Them southerners can throw one hell of a parking lot party. More bourbon flows throughout the day as well as many games of Thunderstruck with random passersby. As we begin to run low on beer Jamie and McHugh prepare for our day in the infield by filling ziplock bags with Bourbon and duct taping them where they won't be patted by security. In years prior, Jamie has done the same, but with a female accomplice and an over-sized bra. This year the one girl brave enough to come along didn't have a whole lot of room to spare up there so flies and thighs it was.

Just as we began to wonder how we were going to get from the lot to the Derb, a guy in a 15 passenger van pulls up to our party and tells us that for $30 and a joint he can get us to the track. I never saw the joint nor were we offered a hit so that part of the deal may have fallen through.

As soon as Jmo and McHugh sat down, their ziplock flasks sprouted leaks, but did not explode. I took it upon myself to make sure the no more bourbon was wasted and soon the others pitched in to help.

At some point between the parking lot and scalping a ticket, my phone died. "It's cool," I figure, "we'll just stay together..." Jamie and I go in through the gate and while we are in line ready to post, it's time for me to pee, again. So I let him know not to move until I get back.

When I returned to the line, Jmo was no where to be found. All alone, and in the middle of 100,000 people and there I am without a cell phone. Instead of worrying about it and trying to find my buddies in this sloppy mob, I figured I would watch the races now and find them later.

Somehow, the pass that I scalped was an All-Access pass, meaning that I was able to go hang out in Sodom; I mean the In-Field, but I could also go back to the stables and watch the races from that side. I ended up going through the stables admiring the giant horses and trying to pump them up with songs from the Rock Soundtrack, "Eye of the Tiger," "Gonna Fly Now." After a minute or so one of the trainers told me to go the hell away. I guess that the Rocky movies do not have the same motivating effect on horses as they do on me.

For the rest of the afternoon until race time, I found myself in the middle of a Fiesta. Mexican music and dancing, grilled chicken and beef for fajitas, all the churros I could eat and muchos cervezas. As race time drew nearer, I began inching closer and closer to the track until I got to a ramp. I finagled my way up to the top and could see the amazing site of the Grandstand, packed to capacity across the way. Finally, at the top of the viewing deck, someone handed me a beer and we had a conversation about the Derby and the horses and who we bet on. When I turned around and began paying attention to where I was standing I almost fell over. Its a good thing I didn't because I would have fallen right onto the track. Everyone told me that if you are going to the Kentucky Derby, don't plan on seeing any horses. That may be true for most people, but I went to the Kentucky Derby and ended up with a front row seat.



My spot was a deck right after the second turn. Seconds after the familiar bugle tune, a brown blur sped by and it was to the screens for the finish. In almost no time at all the horses were back around the second turn slowing down to a stop. Except one. One horse came bounding around and with a harsh face-plant threw its jockey. Trucks and vans came onto the track and finally a curtain was place around the tent.

I am not sure the In-Field knew what was happening, but my side of the track sat in silence as they put Eight Bells down.
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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!