We have to move fast in order to stay with the monkeys. We can't wait around for anyone because the monkeys are lacking in social graces (ie. won't wait around for us). When we lose someone it's constant radio calls and whoops (we make this loud whoop; animal-like call to locate each other in the forest because we more often than not have no radio contact). Last week, I was out in the jungle when the monkeys went bounding up the side of an extremely steep mountain. We plodded along behind them trying to keep them in sight but got to a point where it was just completely sheer cliff.....no way up. So this one guy goes one way, and the other two of us traipse along below the ridge to find feasible way up. I find a not so generous crack in the face of a cliff and decide to try it. Granted, it's ugly and doesn't look safe by any stretch of the imagination, but this is just the sort of shit we have to do day in day out...so I head up. While I'm climbing, my partner clams up, mumbles a bunch of shit about how she doesn't think it's safe, about how she can't do it, etc.
"Sorry, but I don't see any other options. You can look for another way up if you want." I was in no mood to lose these fucking asshole monkeys. We were observing a group that lives in treacherous territory that's either dangerously steep everywhere or full of extremely dense undergrowth.....and they're IMPOSSIBLE to find once you've lost them. So while I do acknowledge how bad an idea it was for me to climb up where I did.....as the ''rock'' on one side was actually just thick mud that looked like rock, and it crumbled under my weight half way up, leaving me clinging to little fucking roots and spiky plants that were impaling my hands, but instead of a) doing her best to follow or b) sucking it up and finding her own way up, she stood there stuttering and wasting precious time, then begged me not to leave her once I climbed up.
If you waste time you lose the monkeys, and therefore are not collecting data, and then, when you get home for the night, you have to explain to everyone why you have no monkeys and that they will have to search tomorrow. This is no good. I thought people were harsh when I first arrived, but after a few months I understand. It's necessary.
I have a terrible cold. One of the many common health issues prevalent here because of constant dehydration and being soaked to the bone for 14 hours a day during rainy season.
On the lighter side of things...... One of my favorite monkeys migrated and instantly became alpha male of the aforementioned clan. That's pretty unique. Usually migrating males have a long and difficult time getting a new group to tolerate their presence, let alone welcome them as alpha male right away. He must have either killed or beat the shit out of the previous alpha male because he's not been seen at all. All the females are grooming him and the babies twittering at him as though he's been alpha forever. So that's interesting to watch. Two females are heavily pregnant though. Which means they are obviously not his babies.... Which means he'll slaughter them once they are born. I have not witnessed infanticide yet, and I'm not looking forward to it.. They usually wait a little while, until after we have named the babies, they've been around a few weeks, and we've fallen in love with them..... Then the killing begins. The mothers will try and stay away from the alpha protect their babies, but if a male is infanticidal, he won't quit until they're dead. Every now and then an alpha won't kill another male's baby, but that's rare. Wow, this paragraph started light. Ended heavy though.
My espanol, that's Spanish for Spanish, is improving lately.
Write me back.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
One Hit Wonders
I haven't taken the plunge and purchased an ipod yet. By now it's not really even a plunge it's an everyday accessory. To some, it's a vital organ. An organ I've somehow managed to survive without like some circus freak. Recently, having grown incredibly frustrated at not having in my possession a means for listening to Radiohead's In Rainbows because of a faulty home computer, I got to thinking about all the music I don't have. Which led me eventually to one hit wonders; individual songs I'd definitely put on an ipod from artists I have no real interest in. The two songs of which I'm about to pontificate typically don't fall into this category. Both bands, in fact, have acclaimed catalogues spanning numerous decades and albums. This is my soapbox, however, and they're one hit wonders in accordance with my musical pallet as it exists at this moment.
The Eagles suck. Total fuckin pussies. By extension, Don Henley sucks and is also a pussy. "End of the Innocence", however, is a fantastic song. A guilty pleasure. An extremely guilty pleasure, as I'm somewhat hesitant to admit even to myself how much I like it. A dissonance created by my distaste for The Eagles and Don Henley likely plays a role in this. The lyrics are sentimental, nostalgic and cheesy. And they're gently delivered by the wispy singing voice of a man with a pony tail befitting an aging rock star who, in the twilight of his career, was catering, whether consciously or subconsciously, to an aging fan base of pussies who'd long since lost their innocence. Be that as it may, I love this song. This fact was recently brought back to light when I stumbled upon a solely instrumental version while on vacation in Florida with Mussolini as we drove along in our neon yellow Pontiac G5 rental car. As Mussolini will attest, I needed no help with the words.
Genesis doesn't elicit as strong of a reaction out of me. Often characterized as a seminal prog rock band, a genre for which I have a taste and respect (specifically King Crimson, Liquid Tension Experiment-a short-lived Dream Theatre side project, Gentle Giant and Tool), I'd be hard pressed to criticize Genesis' work with any requisite authority. And though I'll openly admit to being a big fan of Peter Gabriel, I'm only reluctantly familiar with Phil Collins' ensuing pussyfest post-Genesis. (Odd coincidence the drummers from Genesis and The Eagles went on to become huge pussies in solo efforts). I'm all for well-intentioned exploration of rock's sonic fringes, varied time signatures, and the incorporation of seemingly disparate genres. I am also, however, completely unfamiliar with most of Genesis' output that falls into this category for one reason or another. I can say for certain, however, that "Land of Confusion" is a fantastic song (and perhaps an even better video...check it out on YouTube).
Personally, both songs take me back to simpler times, despite contradictory lyrical content signifying the end of simpler times and the lamenting of current world affairs, respectively. Perhaps the dynamic of this paradox explains their resonance to some degree.
Regardless, strap on your vagina and check them out. These will be amongst my first few itune purchases once I wake up.
The Eagles suck. Total fuckin pussies. By extension, Don Henley sucks and is also a pussy. "End of the Innocence", however, is a fantastic song. A guilty pleasure. An extremely guilty pleasure, as I'm somewhat hesitant to admit even to myself how much I like it. A dissonance created by my distaste for The Eagles and Don Henley likely plays a role in this. The lyrics are sentimental, nostalgic and cheesy. And they're gently delivered by the wispy singing voice of a man with a pony tail befitting an aging rock star who, in the twilight of his career, was catering, whether consciously or subconsciously, to an aging fan base of pussies who'd long since lost their innocence. Be that as it may, I love this song. This fact was recently brought back to light when I stumbled upon a solely instrumental version while on vacation in Florida with Mussolini as we drove along in our neon yellow Pontiac G5 rental car. As Mussolini will attest, I needed no help with the words.
Genesis doesn't elicit as strong of a reaction out of me. Often characterized as a seminal prog rock band, a genre for which I have a taste and respect (specifically King Crimson, Liquid Tension Experiment-a short-lived Dream Theatre side project, Gentle Giant and Tool), I'd be hard pressed to criticize Genesis' work with any requisite authority. And though I'll openly admit to being a big fan of Peter Gabriel, I'm only reluctantly familiar with Phil Collins' ensuing pussyfest post-Genesis. (Odd coincidence the drummers from Genesis and The Eagles went on to become huge pussies in solo efforts). I'm all for well-intentioned exploration of rock's sonic fringes, varied time signatures, and the incorporation of seemingly disparate genres. I am also, however, completely unfamiliar with most of Genesis' output that falls into this category for one reason or another. I can say for certain, however, that "Land of Confusion" is a fantastic song (and perhaps an even better video...check it out on YouTube).
Personally, both songs take me back to simpler times, despite contradictory lyrical content signifying the end of simpler times and the lamenting of current world affairs, respectively. Perhaps the dynamic of this paradox explains their resonance to some degree.
Regardless, strap on your vagina and check them out. These will be amongst my first few itune purchases once I wake up.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Ask and You Shall Receive
A couple weeks ago I had been kind enough to drop in on my family in New Jersey, having spent the bulk of Columbus Day weekend in the Poconos for a glorious wedding I'll likely detail at a later time. Having dropped in unannounced, my mother already had plans to have dinner with out neighbors across the street while my father was at the Giants' game. Knowing full well of the Mrs.' culinary prowess sure to be on display, I happily accompanied her.
Children scattered about the neighborhood, doing what children do, candid pre-dinner conversation brought us to discussion of the birds & the bees. Despite some initial trepidation given the presence of my mother, comedy soon put me at ease. Mr., who is not prone to crude stories or subject matter, quite the contrary actually, gently explained how his son, 10, had recently forced his hand by inquiring of his mother, "Do you take those pills to make sure you don't have any more babies?" While on the subject, albeit somewhere in the periphery, Mr. figured he may as well explain the mystery of procreation in its entirety. In explaining the process of intercourse and male ejaculation, words no doubt greeted by a look of disgust on the part of his son, Mr. smiled as he recounted a specific turn, "...and it will feel really really good." For good measure adding, "Really good!" We all shared a laugh.
We were joined at the dinner table by their 3 and 9 year old girls, and the 10 year old son who had recently walked face first into one of the many approaching losses of innocence.
Somewhere between dinner and dessert, in an apparent lapse in conversation, Jack earnestly offered, "My dad recently told me about the birds and the bees."
"Ooooh. Wow," I offered cautiously in response.
"And what did you learn, Jack?"
"It feels really really good. Really good!" he studiously responded in a raspy voice as a grin swiftly spread across his face, bearing all of his newly sovereign permanent teeth.
Having looked over to Mr. and Mrs. for some sort of cue as to where the conversation was to be subsequently corralled, Jack interjected, pardon the pun, little personal flavor to this potentially abject dinner conversation topic.
"I've done it myself, but I haven't been able to get any of the white stuff to come out."
"Give it time Jack. Give it time," I offered, seemingly in unison with Mr., as the adults seated around the table erupted into uncontrollable laughter, the 9 year old shot everyone looks of confusion, and the 3 year old rubbed her little hands in the marinara sauce on her plate.
"When it does, we'll never see you again," Mr. offered as he caught his breath. Thankfully, the implications contained therein seemed to float just inches over young Jack's head. A bridge over a chapter now steadily approaching
Great food. Great people. Great conversation.
Children scattered about the neighborhood, doing what children do, candid pre-dinner conversation brought us to discussion of the birds & the bees. Despite some initial trepidation given the presence of my mother, comedy soon put me at ease. Mr., who is not prone to crude stories or subject matter, quite the contrary actually, gently explained how his son, 10, had recently forced his hand by inquiring of his mother, "Do you take those pills to make sure you don't have any more babies?" While on the subject, albeit somewhere in the periphery, Mr. figured he may as well explain the mystery of procreation in its entirety. In explaining the process of intercourse and male ejaculation, words no doubt greeted by a look of disgust on the part of his son, Mr. smiled as he recounted a specific turn, "...and it will feel really really good." For good measure adding, "Really good!" We all shared a laugh.
We were joined at the dinner table by their 3 and 9 year old girls, and the 10 year old son who had recently walked face first into one of the many approaching losses of innocence.
Somewhere between dinner and dessert, in an apparent lapse in conversation, Jack earnestly offered, "My dad recently told me about the birds and the bees."
"Ooooh. Wow," I offered cautiously in response.
"And what did you learn, Jack?"
"It feels really really good. Really good!" he studiously responded in a raspy voice as a grin swiftly spread across his face, bearing all of his newly sovereign permanent teeth.
Having looked over to Mr. and Mrs. for some sort of cue as to where the conversation was to be subsequently corralled, Jack interjected, pardon the pun, little personal flavor to this potentially abject dinner conversation topic.
"I've done it myself, but I haven't been able to get any of the white stuff to come out."
"Give it time Jack. Give it time," I offered, seemingly in unison with Mr., as the adults seated around the table erupted into uncontrollable laughter, the 9 year old shot everyone looks of confusion, and the 3 year old rubbed her little hands in the marinara sauce on her plate.
"When it does, we'll never see you again," Mr. offered as he caught his breath. Thankfully, the implications contained therein seemed to float just inches over young Jack's head. A bridge over a chapter now steadily approaching
Great food. Great people. Great conversation.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
New CD's
Yeah, yeah, I still buy CD's. Without a functioning computer, I'm left with little choice. Last week I went to Wilson's Market in Lexington, MA with Mussolini and her buddy, Stalin. They told me in the car that we could stop at Newbury Comics on the way home if I was good... So, obviously, I was great. Mussolini even sent me on a few errands on the other side of the market for me to prove my worth. Worth, proven.
I was given two minutes in the store. Naturally, I blanked on most of the tens of thousands of CD's I've been compiling on my Must Have List in the Saturday column of my desktop calendar at work.
My Morning Jacket: Z
I've heard this baby quite a bit in hanging out with my brother. It's a great goddamn CD. Thanks to the Federal Government and their stupid laws, it cannot be burned. That's ok though. I'll make up the difference on my tax returns this year. Wink wink.
My Morning Jacket: Okonos
Live album. Very Tight. What was very much apparent to me throughout my first listen is their ability to keep intact much of the sublety that rock bands tend to lose in the translating their studio stuff to the stage. They don't gloss over anything. Excellent attention to detail.
Eddie Vedder: Into the Wild (Soundtrack for the movie of the same name)
Still working on this one. It's a brisk album. Most songs don't eclipse 3 and a half minutes. It's paired down in sound as compared to Pearl Jam. This is to be expected, especially given the subject matter of the film that served as inspiration.
I was given two minutes in the store. Naturally, I blanked on most of the tens of thousands of CD's I've been compiling on my Must Have List in the Saturday column of my desktop calendar at work.
My Morning Jacket: Z
I've heard this baby quite a bit in hanging out with my brother. It's a great goddamn CD. Thanks to the Federal Government and their stupid laws, it cannot be burned. That's ok though. I'll make up the difference on my tax returns this year. Wink wink.
My Morning Jacket: Okonos
Live album. Very Tight. What was very much apparent to me throughout my first listen is their ability to keep intact much of the sublety that rock bands tend to lose in the translating their studio stuff to the stage. They don't gloss over anything. Excellent attention to detail.
Eddie Vedder: Into the Wild (Soundtrack for the movie of the same name)
Still working on this one. It's a brisk album. Most songs don't eclipse 3 and a half minutes. It's paired down in sound as compared to Pearl Jam. This is to be expected, especially given the subject matter of the film that served as inspiration.
Prius or Civic?
For armchair activists like myself, these are really the only two choices. It's just a matter of which one? I'm leaning towards the Prius.
My Bad
My boys E. Marty and R. Queeds have brought to my attention the fact that a recent posting neglected to credit Jimmy Rollins for his having earned a spot in the ultra-elite quadruple 20 club.
Here's to Jimmy!
And here's to a Yanks v. Phillies World Series!
Here's to Jimmy!
And here's to a Yanks v. Phillies World Series!
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Official Statistic of the Day
Curtis Granderson is the first player since Willie Mays to hit 20 doubles, 20 home runs, and to leg out 20 stolen bases and 20 triples in a season. That's amazing.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Stranger than Fiction
I cried this past weekend when I stumbled upon Home Alone II, Lost in New York, on HBO. It was the end when the Mrs. McAlister finds Kevin in front of the tree on Christmas Eve. Gets me every time. I cried again a few minutes later when Buzz said something nice about Kevin before they opened presents.
So I may have been overcompensating when I flipped out at some random diabetic shortly thereafter. I had gone for a bike ride along the Charles, just as I have countless times before. Only this time I encountered thousands of people walking to raise money for diabetes. Judging by the quanitity of buses lining Storrow Drive, most of these people had filled their fanny packs with snacks, congregated in parking lots of their local middle schools buses in the early morning light, and "the wheels on the bus go round and round"-ed their way into the big city. Fucking idiots.
Having realized there were too many of them to get a decent bike ride in, at least on this path, I turned around and headed upstream, having given up. I had to go extremely slow, giving oblivious suburbanites headed in the opposite direction, and taking up all of the path, a "head's up" every other breath. Frustration was already mounting when, all of the sudden, some dude points at me and says to all the other selfless christians around him, "Look at this genius!" His tone was one of disgust and holier than thou-ness. So much so that it sent me reeling over the edge of frustration into full blown rage. "Fat fuck!" I said with conviction. "I hope you get diabetes!" I vaguely remember hearing people from amongst the crowd gasping in amazement, but no one hit me or beat me about the head with anything....so I guess I got away with one here. When my attention returned to the path ahead of me, I was too angry to appreciate the people immediately in front of me who had hurried off the path to make way; to avoid a spandex'd cyclist quite possibly infected with rabies. I'm probably more accurately just bipolar:(. But those are walks for another time and another weekend :).
So I may have been overcompensating when I flipped out at some random diabetic shortly thereafter. I had gone for a bike ride along the Charles, just as I have countless times before. Only this time I encountered thousands of people walking to raise money for diabetes. Judging by the quanitity of buses lining Storrow Drive, most of these people had filled their fanny packs with snacks, congregated in parking lots of their local middle schools buses in the early morning light, and "the wheels on the bus go round and round"-ed their way into the big city. Fucking idiots.
Having realized there were too many of them to get a decent bike ride in, at least on this path, I turned around and headed upstream, having given up. I had to go extremely slow, giving oblivious suburbanites headed in the opposite direction, and taking up all of the path, a "head's up" every other breath. Frustration was already mounting when, all of the sudden, some dude points at me and says to all the other selfless christians around him, "Look at this genius!" His tone was one of disgust and holier than thou-ness. So much so that it sent me reeling over the edge of frustration into full blown rage. "Fat fuck!" I said with conviction. "I hope you get diabetes!" I vaguely remember hearing people from amongst the crowd gasping in amazement, but no one hit me or beat me about the head with anything....so I guess I got away with one here. When my attention returned to the path ahead of me, I was too angry to appreciate the people immediately in front of me who had hurried off the path to make way; to avoid a spandex'd cyclist quite possibly infected with rabies. I'm probably more accurately just bipolar:(. But those are walks for another time and another weekend :).
Monday, October 01, 2007
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