I have been reading about the social movements of simplicity, minimalism and frugality lately. The most influential book on the subject has been "The Circle of Simplicity," by Cecile Andrews, and was recommended to me by the Momma.
I was initially drawn to these ideas as a way to save money, but it has become quite a bit more than that. I have always had a bit of distaste for the idea of shopping as a "hobby," and I never considered myself someone who had much of a need for "things." After being inspired to go through all of my stuff and considering where I can reduce, I realize I am almost as guilty of consumerism as the girl with 20 pairs of shoes in her closet. I just have different things that I spend money on. Specifically, my search turned up four different pairs of boxing gloves, three different sets of sparring head gear, a pair of snow-shoes that I have used once, a snowboard that I have used once, a microwave that I never use, and most obvious, hundreds of books that I will not be reading again.
Getting rid of the books caused the most heartache. I like having lots of books because it does good things for my self-esteem.
See all those books? Obviously, I am a learned and well-educated fellow, someone who probably has all sorts of interesting things to talk about.
I finally came to the realization that keeping all these books did not make those statements true or untrue. If I read them, then I read them, and I do not need to keep them there as trophies to impress others (or myself.) I was able to sell about 15 of them to a used bookstore for $40 (which really shows how much of a waste of money new books are), and most of the rest are going to be donated to my local library. I am keeping one large shelf full of books that I have either not read yet or have not yet finished. I will give myself until the end of the year, and then will get rid of anything that remains.
There are some books that I am keeping forever. Some are very important to me, and I will be reading them again and again. Others have good information or quotes in them that I often use for reference. These will be spared. More than anything, I am attempting to reduce the hold these objects have on me. They are NOT symbols of my intelligence, nor an indicator of my worth. They are only valuable for the information and stories within their pages, and I can access them for free at the library (almost) any time that I want. Obviously, what comes with this purging is an emphasis on not buying new books to replace these in the future.
Reducing the amount of things that I own allows me to refocus on people and experiences instead of material objects. I think that I do this more than most already, but I can absolutely improve.
I found it interesting, but I have been trying to define what living a "rugged life" means lately, and I have several drafts that haven't quite felt right. Then I read this: "[Focusing on experience is] the core of the spiritual life - it is awe, wonder, and delight. It is the path that brings us a feeling of life, the rekindling of our spirit, the sense of being on fire with excitement about life."
Sounds about right to me.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Martin's Bitching Bison & Blue Cheese Burgers
Summer is here, so it is time to heat up the BBQ, crack a beer, and ogle the women.
Here is my low-carb version of Bison Burgers, high in protein and good fats, while keeping the sugars down where they should be.
Ingredients
1 LB Ground Bison
1.5 ounces Blue Cheese Crumbles
0.5 t Worchestshire sauce
0.5 t Fresh ground pepper
0.5 t Salt
1 Habanero (diced)
1 T Spicy Mustard
* Mix these items together into burger paste and let sit in the refridgerator for 1-2 hours.
Macro-nutrient Profile (based on 4oz Patty)
Fat: 20g
Carbohydrates: 5g (stay away from ketchup or BBQ sauce, or this will go way up)
Protein: 33g
Preemptive Disclaimer - I realize that A) worrying about one's diet, and B) having pretty flowers on your dining table may not qualify as "rugged." I know...I KNOW.
Here is my low-carb version of Bison Burgers, high in protein and good fats, while keeping the sugars down where they should be.
Ingredients
1 LB Ground Bison
1.5 ounces Blue Cheese Crumbles
0.5 t Worchestshire sauce
0.5 t Fresh ground pepper
0.5 t Salt
1 Habanero (diced)
1 T Spicy Mustard
* Mix these items together into burger paste and let sit in the refridgerator for 1-2 hours.
- Heat coals while slicing up sweet pickles, peeling large lettuce leaves, cutting up banana peppers, slicing cherry tomatoes, and cutting up onion slices.
- Grill burger patties 5-6 minutes per side or until well done.
- The large romaine lettuce leaves serve as the bun, so lay the finished patty on a leaf.
- Add fixin's
- Take a smaller leaf and lay over the top
- NOM NOM NOM
Macro-nutrient Profile (based on 4oz Patty)
Fat: 20g
Carbohydrates: 5g (stay away from ketchup or BBQ sauce, or this will go way up)
Protein: 33g
Preemptive Disclaimer - I realize that A) worrying about one's diet, and B) having pretty flowers on your dining table may not qualify as "rugged." I know...I KNOW.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
The Part where I am Stabbed by a Masai Spear
It was a good week. The apparel and textile production "busy" season is officially over, and I was able to take a few deep breaths, leave my apartment, and think about things outside of my profession. How pleasant.
Actually, it was more than good. I started training again, this time at the Wild Card Boxing Club of Hollywood. It is the same gym thatManny Pacquiao trains at when he is in the States, as well as many other world-class amateurs and professionals, and I am learning a lot just from being in close proximity to all of these top-level guys. I have a good rapport with my new coach, a former world champion in his own right, and a funny dude. Rumor is, I have "rhythm for a white boy."
Also, I was running on the boardwalk in the evenings, followed by a quick dip in the ocean to catch some waves via body surfing. I would then watch the sun go down while sitting on the beach and thinking deep and inspiring thoughts, such as "what should I make for dinner," and "that girl is pretty hot."
Never trust too much good stuff at one time. After being inspired by The Art of Manliness's post on Man Caves, I decided that I must have one. I immediately set to, rearranging furniture out of and into my spare bedroom, putting up vintage boxing posters, and stocking it with bourbon and other necessities.
Years ago, my Grandma Bev had brought me back a Masai spear from her trip to Kenya. It was a perfect accent to my man-cave-in-progress, and I had set it on the ground while determining a good place for it. It was at this point that I tripped, falling forward and kicking the sharp end of the killing device. With one edge firmly planted against the wall, the business end stabbed through the meaty part of my foot at a 45 degree angle. I had propelled myself forward with so much force that the end against the wall embedded itself at least a quarter inch deep into the drywall. I didn't look how deep it had gone into my foot, but it took a long time to pull it all the way out. Sure enough, the metal blade was completely rusted over. Tetanus shots, joy!
I found an Urgent Care Center that was still open, and they stuck needles in me, gave me antibiotics, and a candy for being such a good patient.
Now I am limping along with a hole in my foot, a sore arm, and flu-like symptoms as a reaction to all the medication. However, I got to do some fishing off a dock with my brother today, and while I caught a perch and a stingray, he didn't catch shit but seaweed.
Overall, a good week.
Actually, it was more than good. I started training again, this time at the Wild Card Boxing Club of Hollywood. It is the same gym that
Also, I was running on the boardwalk in the evenings, followed by a quick dip in the ocean to catch some waves via body surfing. I would then watch the sun go down while sitting on the beach and thinking deep and inspiring thoughts, such as "what should I make for dinner," and "that girl is pretty hot."
Never trust too much good stuff at one time. After being inspired by The Art of Manliness's post on Man Caves, I decided that I must have one. I immediately set to, rearranging furniture out of and into my spare bedroom, putting up vintage boxing posters, and stocking it with bourbon and other necessities.
Years ago, my Grandma Bev had brought me back a Masai spear from her trip to Kenya. It was a perfect accent to my man-cave-in-progress, and I had set it on the ground while determining a good place for it. It was at this point that I tripped, falling forward and kicking the sharp end of the killing device. With one edge firmly planted against the wall, the business end stabbed through the meaty part of my foot at a 45 degree angle. I had propelled myself forward with so much force that the end against the wall embedded itself at least a quarter inch deep into the drywall. I didn't look how deep it had gone into my foot, but it took a long time to pull it all the way out. Sure enough, the metal blade was completely rusted over. Tetanus shots, joy!
I found an Urgent Care Center that was still open, and they stuck needles in me, gave me antibiotics, and a candy for being such a good patient.
Now I am limping along with a hole in my foot, a sore arm, and flu-like symptoms as a reaction to all the medication. However, I got to do some fishing off a dock with my brother today, and while I caught a perch and a stingray, he didn't catch shit but seaweed.
Overall, a good week.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Storm Clouds, Territorial Marmots, and Unidentified Whiskey
Salman and I woke early, powered up with coffee that looked like the black gold spewing from the Gulf, and hit the road by 3am. Destination: Bishop, California. Another battle we await with blood and victory in mind.
Breakfast consisted of the finest of fast food restaurants alongside the 395 freeway. The soundtrack a mix of heavy metal, reggae and angry rap.
Wilderness permits and bear canisters were obtained, as doing it the legal way can have its benefits. With hours to kill before the rest of our band of marauding vikings and ninjas joined us, we set off for the Bristle Cone Pine Forest. The wilderness area houses the oldest living things on the planet, with some of the denizens having existed 2,000 years before a wandering Jew named Jesus decided he was the son of God. They look it. Gnarled, weather-beaten and scarred, these trees have borne witness to more than we can comprehend.
Here below, I sit next to one of the kings
Suitably daunted from our brush with immortality, we headed back to Bishop to buy a topographical map, snickers bars, beer, and other necessities. I took a long nap. My brother Bryan and his much more cheerful girlfriend, Britney joined us at the Motel 6 that night, while Kalvin stumbled in around 2am. Joined by Dan, Nate, Squire and his dog the next morning, we were more or less ready to stake a claim on the rugged back-country of Kings Canyon. First though, there was the urgent need for coffee. We stopped at the Schats Bakery, where we uniformly ordered a "schat in the dark," or a coffee with espresso shot if you want to be boring about it.
Finding the South Lake trail-head without any major injuries or a single death, we yawned, stretched and slapped at mosquitoes before taking a "before" shot with everybody fresh-faced and excited.
I sincerely wish that it was possible to get to the top of a mountain without going uphill, but it never seems to work out that way. Uphill. Always uphill.
Dan demonstrates
Of course, if you could get here without effort, then everyone would do it, and it would probably end up looking like the 405 freeway or some similar atrocity. I suppose views like this make a little sweat, effort, grit, desire, and drive worth it.
Going from sea-level to a 12,000 foot pass has its issues, and after a break to deal with elevation headaches, we conquered Bishop Pass, took advantage of her and promised to call some time.
While the pass clocks in at 11,970 feet, those of us who had never been above 12,000 quickly scrambled up a nearby ridgeline to notch the milestone. Not much air up there. Bishop Pass was the highest point of the trail, and we hiked another 6 miles through Dusy Basin and into the stunning Laconte Canyon. Our campsite stared deep into the dark chasm of the valley and up towards some of the most imposing peaks that I have seen in person. Storm clouds gathered and settled over us, soaking us down with random thunder and rain storms. When the sun did prevail, we were treated to incredible views over the jewel of Kings Canyon. Dark red sunsets settled over the peaks, making it look like the mountain of fire in Tolkien's Mordor.
We stayed here for two days, absorbing record levels of mosquito bites, honing our poker skills to world-class levels, lying on our back and staring at the swirling clouds, and of course, drinking whiskey and discussing immortality. While Kalvin was proactive and explored the depths of the canyon, the rest of us waited and the heavy rains would make the crossing impassable on our later attempt. Reason enough to do shit when the opportunity presents itself, and not after.
In order to get a bigger bite out of the higher elevation that the Dusy Basin would provide, we broke camp Saturday morning, and waved good-bye to the formidable scenery that we had been provided.
Dusy Basin is bowl-shaped terrain surrounded by dozens of 12,000-14,000 mountains, some of the highest and least accessible in the lower 48. I say this unequivocally; I have never seen such beauty. We set up camp alongside one of the nameless lakes in the area, surrounded by granite and territorial marmots, snakes, and a yellow-legged toad.
Kalvin with a garter snake
Nate in man vs. marmot
The rest of the day was spent exploring the many ridgelines, having snowball fights, jumping into lakes made of snow-melt, skipping rocks, and avoiding any thought of responsibility.
As the sun fell, we smoked Dominican cigarillos and watched falling stars and bright planets, while Kal pointed out different constellations. One would be hard-put to find a better way to spend 24 hours.
All things must end though, and we broke camp the next morning. A few miles back to the Pass, and another 6 up the South Lake trail. Negra had sore paws, and Dan generously let her perch in his backpack for a first-class ride down. And that's it. We returned to the car, searched desperately for any somewhat-less-dirty clothes under the seats and returned to Bishop. We ate Mexican food, and enjoyed indoor plumbing. I was pleased to note that the old adage is true, and beards do grow longer whilst in the mountains. We said our good-byes, and we went our separate ways.
Thanks to Dan, Bryan, Britt, Kalvin, Salman, Nate, Squire and Negra for an incredible trip, and "cheers" to Will and Clara, who were there in spirit.
Breakfast consisted of the finest of fast food restaurants alongside the 395 freeway. The soundtrack a mix of heavy metal, reggae and angry rap.
Wilderness permits and bear canisters were obtained, as doing it the legal way can have its benefits. With hours to kill before the rest of our band of marauding vikings and ninjas joined us, we set off for the Bristle Cone Pine Forest. The wilderness area houses the oldest living things on the planet, with some of the denizens having existed 2,000 years before a wandering Jew named Jesus decided he was the son of God. They look it. Gnarled, weather-beaten and scarred, these trees have borne witness to more than we can comprehend.
Here below, I sit next to one of the kings
Suitably daunted from our brush with immortality, we headed back to Bishop to buy a topographical map, snickers bars, beer, and other necessities. I took a long nap. My brother Bryan and his much more cheerful girlfriend, Britney joined us at the Motel 6 that night, while Kalvin stumbled in around 2am. Joined by Dan, Nate, Squire and his dog the next morning, we were more or less ready to stake a claim on the rugged back-country of Kings Canyon. First though, there was the urgent need for coffee. We stopped at the Schats Bakery, where we uniformly ordered a "schat in the dark," or a coffee with espresso shot if you want to be boring about it.
Finding the South Lake trail-head without any major injuries or a single death, we yawned, stretched and slapped at mosquitoes before taking a "before" shot with everybody fresh-faced and excited.
I sincerely wish that it was possible to get to the top of a mountain without going uphill, but it never seems to work out that way. Uphill. Always uphill.
Dan demonstrates
Of course, if you could get here without effort, then everyone would do it, and it would probably end up looking like the 405 freeway or some similar atrocity. I suppose views like this make a little sweat, effort, grit, desire, and drive worth it.
Going from sea-level to a 12,000 foot pass has its issues, and after a break to deal with elevation headaches, we conquered Bishop Pass, took advantage of her and promised to call some time.
While the pass clocks in at 11,970 feet, those of us who had never been above 12,000 quickly scrambled up a nearby ridgeline to notch the milestone. Not much air up there. Bishop Pass was the highest point of the trail, and we hiked another 6 miles through Dusy Basin and into the stunning Laconte Canyon. Our campsite stared deep into the dark chasm of the valley and up towards some of the most imposing peaks that I have seen in person. Storm clouds gathered and settled over us, soaking us down with random thunder and rain storms. When the sun did prevail, we were treated to incredible views over the jewel of Kings Canyon. Dark red sunsets settled over the peaks, making it look like the mountain of fire in Tolkien's Mordor.
We stayed here for two days, absorbing record levels of mosquito bites, honing our poker skills to world-class levels, lying on our back and staring at the swirling clouds, and of course, drinking whiskey and discussing immortality. While Kalvin was proactive and explored the depths of the canyon, the rest of us waited and the heavy rains would make the crossing impassable on our later attempt. Reason enough to do shit when the opportunity presents itself, and not after.
In order to get a bigger bite out of the higher elevation that the Dusy Basin would provide, we broke camp Saturday morning, and waved good-bye to the formidable scenery that we had been provided.
Dusy Basin is bowl-shaped terrain surrounded by dozens of 12,000-14,000 mountains, some of the highest and least accessible in the lower 48. I say this unequivocally; I have never seen such beauty. We set up camp alongside one of the nameless lakes in the area, surrounded by granite and territorial marmots, snakes, and a yellow-legged toad.
Kalvin with a garter snake
Nate in man vs. marmot
The rest of the day was spent exploring the many ridgelines, having snowball fights, jumping into lakes made of snow-melt, skipping rocks, and avoiding any thought of responsibility.
As the sun fell, we smoked Dominican cigarillos and watched falling stars and bright planets, while Kal pointed out different constellations. One would be hard-put to find a better way to spend 24 hours.
All things must end though, and we broke camp the next morning. A few miles back to the Pass, and another 6 up the South Lake trail. Negra had sore paws, and Dan generously let her perch in his backpack for a first-class ride down. And that's it. We returned to the car, searched desperately for any somewhat-less-dirty clothes under the seats and returned to Bishop. We ate Mexican food, and enjoyed indoor plumbing. I was pleased to note that the old adage is true, and beards do grow longer whilst in the mountains. We said our good-byes, and we went our separate ways.
Thanks to Dan, Bryan, Britt, Kalvin, Salman, Nate, Squire and Negra for an incredible trip, and "cheers" to Will and Clara, who were there in spirit.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Bears (maybe), Whiskey and Rihanna
As Linda mentioned a few minutes ago on G-Chat, my posts lately have been a bit "somber." I think she meant "depressing," but she is too polite to say so. I guess she has a point, so it is with some pleasure that I announce that I have an adventure a'brewing. Two days hence, I and my outlaw brigade will set out from the urban streets of Los Angeles to wage bloody war on the mountain crags and dark forests of Kings Canyon National Park.
We will leave the noise, stress and chaos of the city for the sweet silence of the California high country. We are well-equipped with flasks filled to the brim with medium-grade whiskey, obnoxiously large knives that we will have no use for, hearts full of grit, and motivated (strangely) by the soundtrack of Rihanna's "Hey Mr. DJ."
I don't want to go too much in detail, as I am sure that I will be writing a trip recap afterward, but suffice to say, there is one 12,000 foot pass on the first day, and plenty of 13,000 and 14,000 foot peaks in the vicinity of our base camp. We will almost assuredly see a few marmots, and I am really hoping for a bear-free trip. Bears scare me. Fortunately, I am armed with Ally's "I love bears" good-luck t-shirt. I believe this will keep me safe. Sadly, she has not made an "I love Mountain Lions" shirt, and this worries me.
In any case, I need to pack all of this stuff from my living room floor to my backpack, but I has a procrastination. Besides, I'm not leaving for another whole day or two. I will get in touch upon our safe return.
We will leave the noise, stress and chaos of the city for the sweet silence of the California high country. We are well-equipped with flasks filled to the brim with medium-grade whiskey, obnoxiously large knives that we will have no use for, hearts full of grit, and motivated (strangely) by the soundtrack of Rihanna's "Hey Mr. DJ."
I don't want to go too much in detail, as I am sure that I will be writing a trip recap afterward, but suffice to say, there is one 12,000 foot pass on the first day, and plenty of 13,000 and 14,000 foot peaks in the vicinity of our base camp. We will almost assuredly see a few marmots, and I am really hoping for a bear-free trip. Bears scare me. Fortunately, I am armed with Ally's "I love bears" good-luck t-shirt. I believe this will keep me safe. Sadly, she has not made an "I love Mountain Lions" shirt, and this worries me.
In any case, I need to pack all of this stuff from my living room floor to my backpack, but I has a procrastination. Besides, I'm not leaving for another whole day or two. I will get in touch upon our safe return.
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