"yikes, sheas a bewt"

I was about to go outside today when I thought to myself, "I'm gonna see something cool". I stopped in the doorway and went back to find my camera. I always listen to those feelings, except when they say, "Kill" and "Steal a car", bad ideas. But today's twilight zone advice paid off. I went back in the woods for a little bit, but nothing was happ'nen. Looking for golf balls to throw somewhere, I heard a rustle in the leaves. I looked around and bam...snake. It was about 2 feet long, not a megaloceros by any means, but hey, its a snake. It was a garndner snake, pretty much the Dennis Kuchinich of North American snakes. Small and non-venomous. So going after it was a win-win. Get bit, show off my scar. Catch it, show off the pictures.

So there it was out in the open, and it spotted me. It took off, but I knew it had nowhere to 'run'. My Jeff Corwin insticts kicked in, and, seeing as I didn't have a stick, I knew I would have to go with my hands. My hand eye coordination isn't quite up to par, and snakes are fast as shit. This might have been tough if I didn't have my years of Discovery/Animal Planet experience. Luckily, I knew that when it coiled it was about to strike, and I quickly got my hand out of there. This was no Black Mamba, but it was attacking like Biden on Guliani last night. It was all over the place. Everytime I got close he coiled and bit at me, his red tounge sniffing the air, or my fart. HAHAHA I got him good. Just kidding. But like I said, he was pissed. Like a cat I grabbed him right behind the head, a move that took some real cahones. He tried to bend his head back and get at my fingers, but it was useless. I have fingers like bear traps. After getting my trophy picture below, and as I began to literally scare the shit out of him, I let my new woodland buddy go. It was the right thing to do, after all, I wouldn't keep a bitchy snake that like one. Word. And just for the record that picture makes him look really small, which he was, but he fought like a champion.

Megaloceros- latin for "check yourself before you wreck yourself"

Julie, Jelso, and I were coming home from playing a pretty lame game of kidnapped last night. It had been drizzling all day, which mad kidnapped extremely muddy which hence made my car extremely muddy. But anyways Julie said something about driving through a puddle when I spotted two eyes down the street. I flashed my brights and saw it was a doe (girl deer for all you "I'm too cool to care about Michigan animals" people out there). A few minutes before I thought to myself that we would probably see some deer or sasquatch, and eliminating sasquatch, I determined we would probably see deer. They're at the house all the time. Before the days started getting noticably shorter you could practically time when they would pass through the backyard, so it was no suprise to me when at 10:14 we spotted the first deer crossing the street into the vacant lot. My biology sense was tingling: does rarely travel alone, plus they wouldn't be bedded down in the rain. With no regard for any possible oncoming traffic, I T-boned the street and shined my lights into the yard. There were four does in the yard just hanging out. Nothing too out of the ordinary, except I thought I spotted something towards the back. As the other deer began to walk away into the woods, the shape came closer and into the light. It was a buck, only the second I had ever seen. In all my years at 468hundo Pickford, I had only seen 1, count it, 1 buck- and it barely counted, not very masculine. But this was a haus. Immediately as I pulled into the old driveway I could sense Jelso's fear, and I noticed him shivering in the back seat. Once I reassured him it wasn't Mrs. Vala he came around. I couldn't make out too many details at first, it was raining and dark out, but the deer came closer. As he walked diagonally closer to us I could tell his antlers were big. The one time I don't bring my camera with me something actually important happens, but the picture of megaloceros (native to Scotland and Westen Europe during the Ice Age) above closely resembled our spotting. Jelso and I tried to figure out if it was a 6 or 8 or maybe even 10 point. We finally decided it was a 4x4. Then it hit Jelso; an 8 point deer could really do some damage to a car. He actually thought for a second the monster was going to charge us. It was a valid fear, but belive me, I just got the car out of the shop and I would have hand to hoof wrestled/killed it before he thought about going at my windsheild. I will say that the deer seemed extremly tame, as it kept eating and gave us the occasional ear flick. I felt disrespected, not that I would blatantly hurt a deer, but it doesn't know that, it ought to be scared of me. So anyway, as Julie sat mesmorized, and as Jelso convulsed in the back seat, I watched the deer walk into the woods following the others.

We came back to my house and watched Storm Chasers in the basement. We weren't in a TIV (tornado intercept vehicle), nor were we chasing thunderstorms capable of producing tornadoes across northern Texas, but we did see a big, big deer. The similarities are too obvious to point out in greater detail. As I drove the remaining hundred or so yards to my own home, I worried if mom had let Louis out that night. A beautiful deer like that would be a shame to loose. Word.

XC II

Once again, today was an extremely sucky day to run around a cross country meet in shorts. But guess what- Nelson Mandela had a sucky job for a while, so did Ghandi, and you know what- even Heffner did, well no, not really. But my point is that even when you're job sucks, you do it. We weren't fighting against apartheid, the caste system, or bath robe rights, but our job was still important. Cheer the girls cross country team to a resounding victory that would echo around the hills of Hines Park for decades to come.

After school I wandered over to Bert's car with Tripp and J-Lo. We hung out in the parking lot, but I couldn't relax. I knew the time I had been trained, groomed, and did those couple sit ups for was close...really close. I tried to joke it off, by my punch lines were falling lame as I couldn't get our duty, our obligation out of my head. Finally we piled into the car, stopped at the red light, proceeded with a left turn onto six mile and we were off. 45 mph never felt so fast. I was on pure adrenaline. We pulled into Bert's driveway and immediately got to work. We changed and headed out onto the driveway where we could paint in peace. We must have looked like total flamers to the busdriver who dropped kids off across the street and passed us three times that afternoon, but none of us care. We were totally willing to lay our dignity on the line.

As Noel stroked my stomach with orange paint, I couldn't help but hope nobody I know would see me. But that's the problem. I never want to be that douchebag in public who yells and is totally obnoxious: something was going to have to change. I would be screaming half naked with other men at a cross country meet. I was a little aprehensive.

Back to the paint. We had essentially a whole 'nother hour and a half to get primed for this meet than the previous one and we took full advantage of it. Every last detail, every last t-shirt modification, every last face paint streak. It was perfect. We even managed to put the letters in the right order this time, and my face paint was awesome. But this week we decided to step our shit up a level. How could we possibly do that? Rip our clothes off at the starting line. Dave and Tripp bought some XXXL hanes undershirts, which were barely big enough for my swimming muscles and huge ego, but they fit. Tripp looked like a little kid in a ghost costume- the one your mom makes out of a pillowcase and enters you into the halloween costume contest with. Anyway we primed our shirts for easy ripoffability. I managed to cut slits so the holes weren't obvious, but extremely strategic. The pants were a different story. It looked like a panther attacked me, but only my legs. There were gashes in my warm up pants all over. Lucky I didn't stab my leg with the scissors.

Game time. We wandered up to the starting line, and found an open space. The reason it was open was because we were standing right in the runners' line: oops. We were 'politely' asked to move as we chanted north-ville really really loud. Then came the time. All the girls were obviously disappointed that we didn't paint, after all we had our pants and t-shirts. All of the sudden we went king kong on our cotton and ripped that shit off. Jelso growled and berti just flexed his pecs and his shirt flew, I mean flew, off. I got the shirt off fine, but only half my pants ripped. I'm sure I could have ripped the other half, but I didn't. Everyone else threw their pants in every direction while I tried to get the leg off my foot. Then it really started. All the parents were looking at us as we bounced in no particular rythm yelling. It felt really good. Then the 'gun' went off and it was on. We sprinted to the 1 mile and got there in like 2 minutes. From there we went somewhere else, not too bad. But then came the finish, which was way far away-very very far away. But like Ghandi I too persevered and we got there in time. We yelled until I had to breathe again, but lack of oxygen couldn't stop my need to fufill my obligation, no, my gift. I yelled and yelled, and together the six of us were cocky x10. At the end we saw the Stevenson sideline, and guess what we did. We avenged our soccer team. Those same asses that promised a Stevenson victory were there, and we yelled across the park things like, "Stevenson sucks" and "How did you're team do Saturday, oh yeah, you lost...to us" We were outnumber alot to a little, but so was Leonitus. We casually walked back to the car in sheer joy. Mission accomplished. Ohh, and to all of you who wanted pictures. Yes. Word.

the farm

Today was another dreary monday, not weather wise but in every other respect. Nothing important/good really happens on mondays. I mean sure, World War 2 was important and stopping Nazis was definately good, but when was the last time you were really excited for monday. Maybe its just me, I don't know, but mondays in general suck. All of this sucking led me to daydream about going to the farm, one of my favorite places, coming in right above waterparks and just slightly below Heaven. Anyway, the name is misleading since its not a farm, and to my understanding never was. Sure, I heard my grandpa bought some goats one time on a whim, but no corn or anything like that, just an old house. But I love that house, the red shag carpeting of my youth, the hard water, the dead mice in the basement, and that signature smell. From my description it sounds borderline infested, but let me tell you, after the squirell got in the window Aunt Sally and Uncle Tom fixed it up quite nicely. Anyway, I've been longing to go back, since we normally only make it out at Thanksgiving. I know what you're thinking: what is out there that makes the farm more fun that a waterpark? Everything. First of all, its pretty much on like a conservative million acres of woods which makes everything more fun. When was the last time you were lost, and I mean really lost in the woods? My time was at the farm. When was the last time you saw a turkey? Mine wasn't at the farm, but it could have been. When was the last time you rode a mini bike up a tree stump? Eric did last year and almost died- that was funny. You see the farm is the place where those stories you tell for years originate. I remeber the giant bass I caught there in Trout Pond. I must have insisted I take it home to show everybody, so we got a bucket, filled it with water, and put it in the back seat. Bad idea. As I got my fries from McDonalds out of the bag, the monster splashed and soaked my burger/shirt. We filleted that son of a bitch, but didn't eat it. I remeber the time I blew the brains out of a squirell. I shot it and it twitched, I panicked and felt bad, so I shot it again and again from point blanck until it stopped moving, with a shotgun. I haven't killed anything since. Or how bout that time Thanksgiving night my cousin lost his watch at the bonfire and recruited every ablebodied adult to help him find it under the leaves.

The farm is pretty much the most fun place to go ever, besides Heaven. I'm hoping to go this friday, on the agenda:
1. Catch a giant, and I mean Giant bass in the pond
2. Ride the mini bikes around
3. Walk through the woods and see some turkeys
4. Fight my friends with sticks
As you can see, my plans don't sound that exciting, but that's what makes the farm so special. The ability to turn the most boring day ever into the day you will never forget. And we are having a stickfight. Word.

cross country/football/psat/soccer

The plan was simple. Show up to the cross country meet and cheer our lungs/dignity out. But let me tell you, that was way harder than it seemed. I have to say I was not looking forward to the meet since it was cold, windy, and a bit rainy. I met Tripp between classes to get out mapquest directions where I was informed that I would be driving. I hate driving to places where I have no idea where I'm going. Luckily I had Noel and Andy in the car, my navigators. All was good until we got off 275 and tried to find the metropark where the race was. We followed the directions, but we couldn't find the enterance. We started looking at adresses and I swear there was a gap on Savage Road where the park should be. With Berti leading the caravan, we turned around 4 times in less than 6 minutes. Noel was talking to Mrs. Hammel, Tripp was talking to Noel, and Andy was talking to mostly himself and Mrs. Dunn once, which was funny. So we found the park and drove around. How hard could it be to find the race? Pretty damn hard, especially when you're driving around the wrong park. Turns out that Tripp mapquested the wrong park, so after another 20 minutes in Walnut Park or something, we left. We found the park down the street. Even if this wasn't the right one, we were gonna stay there. Luckily it was.

Somehow we got there relatively early, we had about about 20 minutes before the race, but we were operating on pure adrenaline, and quick did our paint job. Our planning at this stage was weak, since we painted the n'ville and 'stangs on us so that we had to run around whenever we wanted to show 'stangs. But whatever. In the parking lot we hurried to paint each others chests in nothing but shorts and socks, which is totally not gay, especially when we're all screaming because the paint's so cold. Once we geared up we ran to the start line- I think that's what you call it. Needless to say all the ladies were quite impressed, but embarrassed that we couldn't figure out the right order of letters. Immediately after the start we sprinted to the 1 mile mark, which happened to be on top of a hill. I know I wasn't in the race, but that hill was still a bitch. From there we ran to the two mile, which seemed like it was 3 miles away. I should have stretched or something, and the pizza and fries I had for lunch were catching up to me. Then we ran to something else, and then to the finish. It's hard to act tough when you feel like you need your inhaler, I'm really out of shape. Plus I was trying not to shiver too much, that's what little kids do. Apparently we really impressed Stephanie since she gave each one of us a big hug, sweat and paint in all. We left after the girls race since cheering for dudes with your clothes off is wierd.

I got home and showered quickly, I had more high school sports to see. Northville v. Novi, Good v. Bad, Hot v. Not, you get the idea. 1-7 v. 7-2. When I got there it was 14-0 them, no suprise there. But somehow, once I arrived, we score 17 unanwsered points. Then we gave up a bunch more, and the refs missed an obvious safety call. If a guy recieving a punt drops the ball, the ball rolls into the endzone, and then the guy falls on it, its a safety. Anyway we lost by 3, and it was way closer than anyone expect- we almost pulled an Appalacian State.

So after a crazy day, I had to get ready for the PSAT (pretty sucky-ass test). What a great way to waste 3 hours of my life. A practice for a test I might not even take. Plus it was easy, I ended up with about 15 extra minutes of calculator game time. I'm getting really good at cave.

The soccer game started at noon. Northville v. Stevenson, Good v. Grotesque, Hot v. Throw up in your mouth, you get the idea. It was the second round of the state playoffs, and it wasn't looking good. It was 0-1 until about 15 mins. left in the 2nd half until we scored off a pk. Dumbass, you don't foul northville in the box, cause we score, always. The game went into OT, and 10 minutes in we scored on a breakaway. It was like watching Lance Armstrong win his 7th TdF. Absolute domination and totally expected. So what if Stevenson was number 2 in the state? We're northville, and we DO NOT loose to Stevenson, ever. A loss to them would be like the Michigan State v. Notre Dame game last year. I wish I could see those assholes from the meet who made fun of us for our mixed up letters and then yelled, "Can't wait for the soccer game tommorow when we beat you". I realize its a Livonia school, but couldn't they think of something a little more piercing to say? We looked buff in our paint, like 6 of the 300 so we didn't care, we were busy posing for pictures. Back to the game, ohh yeah, we won it.

So what did I learn this weekend? Northville never, never looses. Ever. Word.

into the wild

So I was in the basement bench pressing like 400 lbs. when I heard the new Eddie Vedder song "Big Hard Sun" which happens to be the title song for the new movie Into the Wild. There hasn't been a movie I really, I mean really, wanted to see since Superbad, and not that I am drooling to see this film, but I'm definately interested. My understanding is that its about a man who gives up everything he has to go live in the Alaskan wilderness with bears or something crazy like that. Maybe I'm drawn to it because I can see myself doing that, except the living with bears part and I would have a, how do you say, attractive woman come with me. Yeah, maybe I am crazy, but I'd at least carry a gun, but whatever. I didn't read the book, so I don't know any of the details, but its America, who cares about details. But that gets me going on something else- those people who are so self-righteous about how they read the book before seeing the movie because the book is always better.

Now I agree that often the book is better than the movie, just look at Harry Potter, and my personal favorite, Jurassic Park. Micheal Crighton's masterpiece was probably one of the best books I've read (and the movie was sweet too), which is on a very short list: I haven't read many books. But anyway, I didn't read all 17,549 pages of LORT, but you know what? The movie was absolutely bitchin', and if I read all 17,549 pages of Tolkein I might jump off a bridge into a sea of literature based films, and I would enjoy every second of the fall.

Much like my death would be symbolic of my beliefs, that guy in Into the Wild ends up as a lazy brunch for those Kodiak bears, but it could have been dinner- I don't have the details. Anyways I'm looking forward to seeing a movie that is worth discussing with NHS's own film afficionado Tim Ortopan.

In other news tommorow a group of us are going to the last cross country meet to cheer, in a manly way, the girls team to absolute victory. When they run by us, we're taking off our pants/sweatshirts, revealing the name of one runner painted across our chests. We're bringing sexy back. Word.

leaf bug thing

In other somewhat Jeff Corwin related news, I was outside yesterday and saw a sweet bug (I haven't had time to properly identify it yet). At first I didn't realize what it was, for obvious reasons. All I'm gonna say is that I bet Jeff Corwin's camera crew doesn't take pictures of bugs on their free time. Ohh, and if you're afraid of bugs, grow up. I'm gonna make another trip into the forbidden forest tommorow. I hope all the mosquitos are dead. Word.