I Know You

   I've crossed the Atlantic Ocean, explored a Mexican border city, loaded my entire life into a truck and dragged it across the country.  I've made the best friends a person could have, fought for those I love, and done things I didn't believe I was capable of so many times over that they are blase.  And I've done 99% of it alone.  Today though, I discovered that Henry Rollins knows me.  I've never really been a huge fan of his music, but I didn't know that he did spoken word stuff.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vj-B42gXcoQ

From Brimming Optimism to Crushing Defeat and Back Again: A Hanger's Tale

For a good month I was positively effervescent  that I had found a source for Nylon.  Last week I was told that this new source (A sleeping bag manufacturer) was unable to provide nylon that was not in sleeping bag form, and so I sailed into the doldrums and watched as the sails deflated.  So I began searching online anew. And in confirmation of my earlier searches unless I tried to battle through phone conversations that lacked any real sense of continuity or mutual understanding I was again without any hope of finding the treasure that I sought.

Up until last night I was out of ideas besides wandering through the old city hoping to stumble upon the rare and exotic fabric called Nylon.  Unfortunately wandering through the press of humanity called the old city is pretty close to my fear of heights, which is unfortunately a quite powerful demotivater.  The eve last, however, my fortune turned and I met a interior design teacher at a local design school who happens to know fashion design teachers at said school.  Oodalalie!  So hopefully one of these mascots of the fashion world will be able to appease my requirement for rip-stop nylon and the plethora of camping equipment that its abundance will produce.

A new mania

I always enjoyed watching wind and the willows.  I loved Mr. Toad and his many manias.  Little did I know as a young child that I would be somewhat obsessive.  Whenever I had a "hobby" it was life consuming.  When I was into miniatures and cards I ate and slept Warhammer, Lord of the Rings, and the American Civil War.  When I learned I could make pipes all I could talk about was briar grain, tobacco, stem making techniques, and the great carvers.  This of course was interspersed with waves of miniature painting and trying to convince my wife that playing Mordheim was fun.  Then came the motorcycles.  Oh and I forgot to mention the pen making, brush shaving, and being a rockstar.

With no workshop here and even less people to play miniatures with than I had in Ohio (which was 1) I have now turned to a new mania.  In the summer of 2002 I went backpacking in the Jenny Lakes wilderness.  I had been on a few trips before as well and I loved it every-time.  This time I had a herd of ping pong ball like mice running over my chest while I slept under the stars.  Rodents using my body as part of an obstacle course made me uncomfortable but camping, especially backpacking, makes me feel alive.  Being in the woods with some friends, climbing to the top of Mt.  What's its name, it makes me feel alive.  But did I have to hurt on the ground and kill myself in the hike to enjoy it?  I started thinking about hammocks over tents in those days and even brainstormed about bug and rain protection but never took active steps towards my goal.  Then in 2011 I went backpacking in raccoon creek st park in PA and killed myself with a super heavy backpack.  I was also starting to feel my age and did not sleep nearly as well as I did when I was a youngster.   I started to look into lightweight and ultralight backpacking which brought me into contact with Hammock Forums.  Here I found a bunch of crazies who, like me, thought hanging from a tree would be the better way to camp.  And several did it with packs 1/3 or even less than I was used to carrying.  With my body falling more and more out of shape and my knees hurting even more this was sounding like an interesting solution.

So in the midst of working almost continually I have been dreaming of sleeping in a hammock.  I have been looking to find rip-stop nylon (to build my own hammock) and today I finally touched bases with a supplier, so I'm stoked.  I want to hang as a family and I have already designed (in my mind) some sweet kids hammocks.  Once the I get some nylon hopefully we will be cooking with gas.

I ordered a hammock from Olive Planet (as this was the only one I could find that was anywhere near long enough for me).  So I have a hammock on the way.

I swung by Adventure on the rocks and picked up 2 Petzl Spirit carabiners.  Can't say enough nice things about this guy.  He also has pointed me in the direction to get materials for making my own hammocks and quilts.  This is the beginning of my suspension system.  For my personal hammock (to be procured before the  pending Goa vacation) I'm still in need of a few things:

1) Polyester webbing straps (tree huggers) this is to protect the trees from getting hurt from the hammocking process.
2) Dyneema rope.  I am trying to contact boat companies in Mumbai to get it.  Amsteel Blue is the big American brand but is pure unobtainium here in India.  Marlow is available and I'm going to try and get 3mm Excel D12.  This stuff only weighs practically nothing and can support 993 kg.  I don't even weigh that much.  I am going to make woopie slings and soft shackles with it.  That's right.  Woopie slings...and soft shackles.
3) Bug netting (I won't need this at the beach but it will be needed before I will actually treck with this setup.
4) Tarp.  I thought this would be the trickiest but found a material for sale here called Silpaulin.  Not only does the webpage have a picture of a buff Indian guy trying to rip it but I think (according to its waterproofiness and weight) to basically be silnylon.  So if I go for the lightest stuff I'll be rocking the cash box.

To get my family set up I'll need more of the same and the nylon which I have finally sourced.

Oh, and I'm not writing about my bike because I am too terrified of Indian bureaucracy to get my license and
registration taken care of.

Paging Dr. Wasteland

Paging Dr. Wasteland: One man's crusade to heal DayZ's zombie victims

How an offline actor became an online folk hero to a post-apocalyptic world.

http://arstechnica.com/gaming/2012/07/the-healing-touch-dr-wasteland-brings-hope-to-day-zs-grim-world/3/

This planet is getting smaller.

http://www.auroranightglow.blogspot.com/

Shot from the ISS in Low Earth Orbit.  Fascinating video of the night side of our planet.  The auroras dance and play along the thin line of our atmosphere that is all that stands between us and the hostile universe outside.  Meanwhile, lightning filled storm clouds roll over darkened continents and clear skies reveal the light of civilization spread across the land.  

The Glint

I was pretty damn excited.  The light-bulb had gone on.  Inspiration had granted me her illustrious bounty. I’d just realized the elusive, elegant solution to the single problem keeping me from executing the perfect scam. 

I was ecstatic. 

This was going to be a blast and a half.  You see, I’ve always been supremely intrigued by the idea of convincing hundreds of otherwise intelligent people in fine public standing, and with loads of cash at their disposal to simply hand me it, smiling, knowing that their oodles and oodles of dough was well-spent.  That they were going to make a hefty profit.  That I was a good man.  Ha.  That was the best part.  They truly - with every pint of their blood and over every square inch of their skin – believed me to be a genuinely well-meaning human being.  What a rush.  That final handshake.  That last smile.  The glint in our eyes.  Theirs one of elation - and them believing mine to be of similar kin.  Goosebumps just thinking about it.  With that handshake I know I they’re mine.  “It’s been an absolute pleasure doing business with you, Scooter.”  “Oh, you too Mr. Stevens! Tomorrow you’ll truly be a rich man.”  Reach hand forward.  Look them straight in the eye.  Flash the grin.  Handclasp.  Three firm shakes.  Break.  “Adiós!”.  Give one last humble, kind smile. 

About face.

Walk with a bounce in my step, and the toothy snarl spreading from cheek to cheek. I head toward the nearest side road.  I have to get out of sight.  I once started the maniacal laughter before I got out of sight.  Bad decision.  Apparently the cackle’s a quick game-changer.  People find it to be odd, disturbing.  Strange.

I always allow myself the cackle… To be truthful I don’t really have much of a choice in the matter.  That’s why I make a break for it right after the handshake.  That’s what triggers the cackle ultimately.

It didn’t used to be like that though.  There was a time when I could keep it together.  I could keep cool through the whole gig, calm as a koala.  Then I stopped getting the rush, the thrill.  I needed costumes – bald caps, wigs, fake noses.  Weird stuff, I know.  Elaborate backstories.

And then I had to find out everything, I mean EVERYTHING about my target.  Well then the shakes started.

I went to see a psychiatrist who told me I should lay off the soft drinks. Yeah, the constant lying to everyone and unceasing pretending of alternate personas had nothing to do with it.  Definitiely just the soft drinks. 

Well all right.  So I cut them out, and it worked for a while.  Then I just had to stop doing the same ol’ same ol’ for every single con.  By upping the ante with each new job I got that rush I wanted.  Who needs drugs or sex when you’ve got the thrill of your life over and over with every new week that came.  But then I started wanting longer cons.  Better.  More elaborate.  Less tried.  Riskier.  Larger Hauls.  And that, my friend, is just about the time I conceived of the doozy of all cons - “The Oracle”.

Oh, it was love at first sight!  She was sleek, sexy - a real money maker.  All I needed was a veritable trove of targets who had gobs of cash, severe gambling problems, with a slight supernatural streak, and in far-flung corners of the globe. 

And I was pretty damn excited.  The light-bulb had gone on.

[Insert SPHERE reference here]

This is dedication.  Not only does this guy take a somewhat regular hobby and maximize it.  Not only does he sell a farm in pursuit of this passion.  But he also creates a giant machine and calls it "The Scorpion".