The Wizard Uses Item: Scroll of Reanimation

Let us all hope that no otherworldly intelligences have lain spawn within the recesses of this shambling corpse of a bloggio.

The Genius is once again deliberately, and purposefully, unemployed, but not without plan or hope. After all, in this economy it is so easy to find employment that who wouldn't want to take a couple month vacation and then merge with the job stream as the salmon so often do. Except, you know, without the orgy and death at the end of the search.

But seriously, I have moved out of the comfort and light of the lovely city of DC to the far reaches of Virginia-space. The amenities in my new lair are charming and rustic. So rustic in fact, that I must travel 5 miles to find the internets. This rusticity extends to television and radio signals, as well. You might almost wonder if I have violated both Einstein and Lewis' Laws, and traveled into the near-distant past. So do I.

I've got a backlog of post ideas longer than the list of bad wang jokes I told, and I have nothing to stop me from writing. I can't even muster a bad excuse to avoid writing. So look out Pinko Punko, I will be pestering you about Monday Goldriker Theater.

Toll

One (1) acre of corn, cob consumed.
One (1) herd of cows, hamburger consumed.
One (1) orchard of cherries, canned, dried, and whole consumed.
One (1) litter of pork, bratwurst consumed.
Two (2) toilets, interior destroyed.

I think the Ernest Nesingwary stuff is for vacations that start in the dumps. This one was a lot of fun and I was not in the dumps when it started. I was also too busy to blog much.

Impromptu Beaching

I drove to the beach yesterday. I sat on the beach today. I forgot to apply lotion and am feeling a little overdone. I am also tired from sleeping 12 hours last night and into this morning. I haven't slept so long in at least 8 months. I feel fantastic, except for the radiation-burned parts of me. Despite being broke, underemployed, broken, and almost beaten, I live a charmed life at times. Thanks to my brother for the use of his car while he is off visiting the Motherland.

My expeditious return to darkest Wisconsin begins sometime next week. And yes, I did need a brief vacation before my vacation. I almost regret leaving my manservant, butler, staff, and entourage behind on this minor excursion as I have no one to apply lotion to my back.

Summer Expedition Plans?

My quartermaster just waltzed into my writing den and proposed a schedule that included planning sessions for a possible return to the land of buckthorn and honey weiss. I nearly cane-whipped Auswald for interrupting my thoughts. The sheer audacity of the man! I was betwixt a plot and a nap, nearly finished with a rough draft of my next novel, prior to the typing stage and he barges in all a-flutter over schedules and time tables! It's my expedition, is it not? It shall leave when I say and not a moment earlier nor later.

I should not be too hard on Auswald, his disturbance brought some fond memories to the forefront of my cognition and for that I shall have a sumptuous dinner made that he will serve me and enjoy most fragrant lovelies and an abundance of pungence. This meal will sate me and serve to enhance his savoring of whatever broth and noodles the cook prepares for the staff. I suppose I should have Auswald perform an inventory of the expedition's equipment and oil my armaments. I shall retire to my den and begun anew with my memoirs.

Surgical Strikes are not Performed by Doctors

Victory is ours once again! We returned to the scene of Friday's battle against the buckthorn and slew great swathes of the enemy. I personally eliminated five hostile battalion commanders* and their attendants. I could not have performed my duties without the guidance and training provided by our most excellent sergeant nor without my stalwart comrades in arms.

Stomping through the battlefield with saw and clippers reminded me of my childhood spent stomping through imaginary battlefields with sticks and ... other sticks. Every moment I smelled cedar, I was propelled back through the corridors of memory. My brothers and I roamed all over the fields and forests of Door County. I could feel the tensions of the last few weeks fading away with each intake of breath. Every squelchy step in the flooded forest left angry emotions stuck in the mud and detritus. Every buckthorn hewn down was a satisfying accomplishment, something that has been particularly absent in my life of late.

*These were fruiting buckthorn, about 1-2.5 inches in width. Without my dad's knee-high boots, I would not have been able to get to three of them because they were too close to the overflowing creek. Thanks, Dad!

Back from Patrol

I wish I could have written this report yesterday but my unit was out on a long range reconnaissance patrol, attempting to locate any further buckthorn staging grounds in Newport State Park. The invaders are very crafty and look similar to a local species which can only be distinguished from the hated enemy by its reddish bark. This is a source of consternation for me as my colorblindness hinders my attempts to root out and destroy the vile buckthorn. I have my teammates verify all of my potential targets. It's the only way to be sure.

Having identified a range of deadly targets, my team and I were dismayed to find out that we must return to Saturday's field of battle. The word in the barracks says that our defeated enemy was able to summon reinforcements. The schedule is grueling and the fight is epic and yet, I weary of the struggle. I wish to be home and warm and fed. The fight is not over and will not be over before I am called away from this theater.

We march in twenty minutes.

The Victorious Return to Base Camp

We march back to camp cold, wet and hungry but with our heads held high and our hearts full of victory! The vile invading buckthorn was caught unaware of our attack and scattered to the elements. With saw and snips, we cleared swathes of hideous groves and horrid stands. We sprayed the stumps with a herculean solution of blue gunk so that the regenerative properties of the plant would not allow it to rise again like the hydra.

We struggled for hours and suffered some causalties. Deer and duck had been sent in to scout the enemy position, but did not survive their mission. We were only able to retrieve their tags, so little of their corporeal presence remained. Their sacrifice was not in vain, as we were able to clear large areas of the menace known only as "that plant we're supposed to cut and spray."

Victory!
Long live the fighters!

Weekend Retreat

I am currently using a Compaq computer to access the interwebs. This computer is a good example of Compaq's line of no longer seen products. It could probably do with a backup and then formatting to remove all these bizarrely unhelpful utilities. Whatever, it's not mine.

I hope to write some this weekend. My hosts and I had plans to go engage some buckthorn in a vicious action over at Whitefish Dunes State Park, but since the temperature is currently hovering around freezing, our attack has been temporarily delayed. Given the wind and the fearsome weather predicted, our attack may be postponed indefinitely. I find myself unprepared for subzero temperatures and snow. I was told to expect colder weather but not winter weather. Perhaps I should have contacted our man in Michigan.

Crapola. I have just received word from my commanding officer that the attack is on since the buckthorn would never expect an attack in such weather. Hopefully, I will return alive and with all my fingers and toes.

Depths Plumbed, Souls Sated

It is the evening of the last day of the expedition. Tomorrow we begin the trek back to civilization. I have found the elusive Perry's Cherry, albeit of a nature altogether different than the one described by my old colleague in the club. Cigars are best smoked with the discussion of past trophies and conquests.

The porters have loaded the crates and the trucks are fueled. I have learned much and hope to publish soon after our return to the world. It has been a fine expedition with hardship, loss and some small comforts. These experiences remind a man of his essential nature. And that nature is a lonely boozehound desperate to regain some shred of relevance by blasting the shit out of defenseless, caged animals with high-powered firearms.

Yes, indeed, this whole week has been a long set-up for a weak Dick Cheney joke. What the fuck do you want? I'm on vacation, bitches.

Failures Abound and Spirits Sag, Yet Hope Remains

While trekking to our destination yesterday, we encountered another well-equipped expedition. A large family group of Illinoian travellers was participating in a cartographic survey of the peninsula. My logistical director was acquainted with one of the porters in the other group. They had both attended explorer's university in their youth. I instructed my colleague to reaffirm this friendship and glean any information on the natural phenomenon of the area. We have yet to locate any further varieties of New Glarus, spotted or dappled, or any of the greater or lesser Sprecher's species.

The leader of the cartographic surveyors and I discussed the fascinating wildlife and the trophies I had hoped to triumphantly bring back to the museum, we enjoyed a light juniper beverage liberally spiked with gin and tonic. I expressed my disappointment with the local villagers' porting ability. They are rather weak of spirit. My compatriot feels that these trips are best left to family and then proceeded to describe his rather boring genealogy and the names of his descendants whom he had relegated to baggage and portage duty. The man had many faults but chief among them was a completely insufficient knowledge of firearms. Not everyone I meet is prepared for the difficulties of a life spent forging a solitary path through the wilds with only a team of local porters, a doctor, three nurses, two naturalists, a tracker and three horse thieves.

The logistical directer returned with some new knowledge of our earlier stated destination on the northern and eastern beaches. The region has been decimated by the drought and is no longer a fertile ground for man or animal. The water level has receded to the point that the beaches are covered in a mass of rotten vegetation and decaying fish. I have found the fish in this region to be rather poor in quality on the whole with the notable exception of the walled-eye fish, a curious piscine prevalent in much of the waters inland. Unfortunately, it is not much sport for a true explorer.

Today, we have resigned ourselves to a day of rest as our porters have become exhausted in the unusual heat. I am not normally disposed to such molly-coddling of my guides and muleskinners, but there are local sites in the southern peninsula which I plan to visit, with or without a full bar and ammunition selection.

One note of information that is startling and speaks volumes of the skill of our Doctor Chetworth P. Hunnicobble, none of our gangly local porters have yet fallen ill to the virulent ear ifnections this region has been known for in past travels. I am certain that the constitutions of these people would be barely capable of this trip were it not for the over-tender ministrations of Dr. Hunnicobble.

Geologically the Same but Biologically Different

As we travel further north, I notice that the water is clearer. The invasive zebra mussel has cleaned out much of the clutter in the waters of the great lake. On first look, this appears to be a blessing. However, the clarity of the water allows the submerged vegetation to grow at greater depths and this has the unfortunate side effect of increasing the mass of rotting vegetation at water's edge. The smell is quite pungently potent and compares rather unfavorably with the campground toilets of my youth spent in various travel camps in eastern Europe.

The communities have undertaken many temporary measures to combat this vile green menace. Just yesterday, I spotted paddleboats that had been designed specifically for mowing the seagrass. There is not much one can do as the chemistry of the lakes are being changed irrevocably. Such is the folly of the wages of sin or some such reproving proverb.

The beaches remain much as I remember them, aside from the olfactory factors. I built an underwater cairn at a limestone pebbled beach to memorialize certain memories of my youth and more recent events. I visited the establishment which had provided me with many frozen repasts and was satisfied.

Today, we venture further north into my past and memory.

Holy Radiation Burn, Batman!

Through a rather stupid clerical error on the part of my expedition quartermaster, we did not have enough sunblock for all yesterday. I sacrificed myself so that my fair-skinned nephew and brother might survive the beach ordeal unscathed. The pain will fade but my quartermaster will not soon forget the flogging he received for his mistake.

My expedition to the darkest parts of northern Wisconsin continues. We seek elusive prey. We have so far found specimens of the Sprecher's Ravin' Red and Leinenkugel's Berry Weiss. I hope to bag one of the lesser known species of this region, the Greater Spotted Cow, some Sprecher Perry's Cherry and possibly some other Leinenkugel's varietals.

On Vacation

Will be back Monday August, 6th.

My parent's DSL connection is not exactly awesome, in part because I think I am dialing in to Chicago from the Far Frozen North. Anyway, I will post something about all the fun I had with the Uncanny Canadian crashing BlogHer. All I will say is that I got an awesome t-shirt. I will post a picture as soon as I can.