Hiking, Video Style!

So I meant to post this back in February when I did this hike but then the Martian Death Flu struck that evening, rendering me a useless, quivering mass of sick.  Two weeks later, I was mostly recovered but had completely forgotten about these photos I took and video I recorded.  So here they are, at last, only a month late.  Enjoy!

Video of Hike

Photos from Hike

Geocache find! 

Hiking Down to the Yellow Rocks

Returning Triumphant

Beautiful Desert Day

Panorama of the Area

Into the Wilderness

Hiking & Geocaching - Two Great Tastes

Geocaching is a strange and delightful activity, that's for sure.  It combines three of my favorite things in the world: seeing new places, gaming, and hiking.  So I thought I'd go back and look at some of my more interesting caching logs from the last few years, along with some accompanying images.  Good times and much adventure!  Please enjoy these stories; I'm pleased to say that I didn't wound myself on any of these adventures, although wrong moves are sometimes fatal ones on these lonely mountains.

Lookout Peak, Robledo Mountains (GCX89N)

We're back! So after our Sacramento Mt. adventure yesterday, Dave & Ganggreen called me up last night, wanting to know if I wanted to leave early to try and tackle the road up to Lookout Peak that we chickened out on driving up last November. I couldn't resist so after our rendezvous at Starbucks, we high tailed it up Faulkner Canyon Road and started the rock crawl in earnest.

Adrenaline ran high but Dave's amazing driving and remarkable Rubicon Jeep was up to the task. When we reached the first saddle, they wandered off to snag my neighboring cache and walked up the ridge to the top, where I met the white faced but exhilarated driving team. The find was easy and we enjoyed the spectacular views before we split up again, during which I placed another (evil) cache.

I skipped back down the ridge and met up with the boys before crawling down the initial obstacle from last year. Now it doesn't seem so bad.

Giving this a favorite for the awesome adventure. Thanks!

96 Tears, near Globe, AZ (GC18028)

So this was quite an adventure. I talked my sib to make the hike up from Highway 77 as a break from our drive to Phoenix, en route to a wedding in Vegas. It's a good thing we did because Phoenix was a hideous festering hell hole when we arrived, with traffic moving like frozen molasses and accidents blocking access everywhere (plus no good wine anywhere near our hotel). But I digress...

We started with a good pace up to the old jeep (?) road, remarking along the way as to why there was a long black tube running parallel to such a remote trail (much speculation ensued, including my theory about bear fluids being channeled to some secret government lab down in Globe; turns out it was just feeding a cattle tank). When we finally reached the GZ area, Roger just knew exactly where the cache was even without looking at the map; sure enough, he was spot on correct (his second find ever out of two hunts!).

GREAT cache and very very lonely (I decided we would seek this one when we saw that it hadn't been found in over two years!). It's always a pleasure to find something like this. The wooden box is starting to come unraveled a bit but I don't think it matters much given it's very well protected hiding place. Snagged a couple of tears and then high-tailed it back to his Prius. All told, we did the whole thing in about 2 hours, not bad for a couple of out of shape guys who were more concerned with getting their hands on some decent Malbec before bedtime.

Thanks! A definite favorite.  Did the mention the views and weather were spectacular today?

Big White Gap, Las Uvas Mts (GCWGRN)

BG and I reminisced last night about the time we got lost and ending driving over the Big White Gap in the Las Uvas, way back in the 90s. So the goal with the Da Boys today was clear. We were gonna go the White Gap again in his Toyota Tundra, choosing the Corralitos Ranch Road route as our entry point. Along the way, we stopped to get another cache and gawk at the amazing beauty this road has to offer. The drive up to the Magdalena Peak area has always been one of my favorites and today did not disappoint.

Afte this, the road got dicey, far worse than it was 10 odd years ago (and apparently worse than it was when this cache was placed). We cleared a few rough patches in the arroyos and near the White Gap tank, where we were greeted by cows and mule deer drinking at the pond. From here, it was all uphill to the pass. After getting out and helping our driver navigate his way through a particularly rough patch, we thought it would be clean sailing to the top, the rough being very rough but doable. After .5 miles from the top, our luck ended abruptly when the road in front of us decided to disappear into a chasm of avalanchee badness. From this point on, it would be impassible even for a 4x4 to navigate (although I'm sure ATVs could do it just fine). The hike up from here was not bad and we found ourselves to the pass within 15 minutes or so. A short rest and some awed gawking at both the Organs and the Black Range (from the place! who'd a thunk?), we made our way up to the cache site and the prize was at hand.

The boys celebrated with beers and I reveled in my first five terrain find! What an adventure. I took an amazingly cool bug and left one of my own, along with a few other goodies (earrings, $1, etc) for the next intrepid adventurer who wants to make this trek here. Thanks for the challenge! Next time we'll have to approach from Highway 26 to get the Las Uvas Springs cache.

PS The iPad worked brilliantly the whole way, even when we had no coverage at all (yet the GPSs and our satellite maps persevered throughout). I finally switched to the handheld for ease of movement during last .5 mile hike. All in all, a good day for cachers and good day for technology. Yay!

Ticket to the Superbowl, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, NM (GC21976)

What better way to celebrate 12/12/12 than to find what has to be the hardest cache I've done all year. That's not to say that any one aspect of it was particularly hard but in summation, it wins... hands down. Here's the quick and dirty version of the challenges we faced today.

1. We ran into an issue with the initial field puzzle involving the Stage One numbers. Seems we ended up a negative number for one of the coords; turns out this was the stage that the CO had to modify due to changes in signage but BB & I were pretty sure there was still a problem and a phone call to the last finder confirmed this.
2. We took the wrong road at first, trusting erroneously in our atlas maps, which took us into the heart of a ranch with no exit roads. After this, we back tracked to the road I thought I would need in the first place and we were in business.
3. Since BG couldn't join us today, BB & I were in my trusty Element, which is not ideal for this sort of thing but it fared fine apart from a bit of plastic covering over the right rear strut, which popped loose on some particularly prominent rock. Fortunately, nothing was broken and it snapped back in placed right away. The rest of the drive was rough but with no incidents, and only one bit where we drove over open desert instead of the road to avoid a particularly nasty patch of rock.
4. The climb was loose, volcanic, and somewhat treacherous because we didn't follow the CO's advice and took a different, stupider route up. 
5. The hide was HARD in these rocks. A need in a haystack hide for sure. But we got it! We also recovered Marauders stick. 
6. Downhill, especially on loose rock, is not my forte so it took me almost as long downhill as up.
7. Had to go to work so we hauled ass out of there. Now I'm 30 minutes from my meeting; no shower for me (just some freshening up!).

All in all, an adventure for the ages. Thanks BD!!!!!!!!!!! A definite favorite point for this one.

Conference Thoughts, Part II - Presentations

So this is a follow up from my last post.  I thought I'd give you a taste of the presentations I've been doing for the last few years at the conference.

Please... ENJOY!

• Technical Writing and Zombie Apocalypse: Using Popular Culture Icons to Enhance the Classroom

• Don't Be Evil: Using Google Drive for Collaborative Learning Activities

• The 7 Wonders of Pedagogy: Learning Style Theory & Antoine Bauza

• Using Social Networks to Adapt Our Classes to Limited-Attention Learners

• Teaching Teachers to Tweet Terrifically: A Conference Twitter Primer

Pop Culture Conference Fun

I've been slacking lately, at least regarding this blog.  The last couple of weeks were all about getting ready for making my annual pilgrimage to Albuquerque to be part of the Southwest Popular & American Culture Conference.  My friend Lewis- who I usually room with to save money- jokes that I run the conference, which is quite hyperbolic but it does sometimes feel that way.  After all, I remember attending for the first time in 2009 as a humble guest of his, having finished my duties at another nearby conference that was taking place at the same time.

Then it was in 2011- the year we merged with the national conference in San Antonio- that the delightful Dr. Leslie Donovan asked me to take over as chair of the Pedagogy area of the conference, for which she was currently serving as area chair.  She wanted to focus more on her Tolkien studies and wanted to pass the reigns to someone who showed the enthusiasm to do the daunting tasks that faced an area chair of a large conference area.  Since that time, Popular Culture Pedagogy has developed into one of the four largest of the conference, along with Science Fiction-Fantasy, Game Studies, and the Grateful Dead group.

The area chair job is relatively simple enough:  I send out a Call for Proposals every year- usually in late July or early August- soliciting papers and/or presentations from all over the world through various databases that specialize in advertising CFPs for conferences, symposiums, and workshops around the globe.  As proposals come in, I read them and either approve or reject them, sending out messages to submitters in either case (most of the time if there is a rejection, we allow for revised CFPs).  Then, when our deadline has finally passed, I form panels out of the submitted and approved CFPs, attempting to group them into topics of similarity.  Finally, when the conference arrives, I act as liaison for my presenters, usually "panel chairing" their discussions.  This can be a very time-consuming task, as we generally have between 10-15 panels of 90 minutes each, spanning the four days of the conference.  In the meantime, I still have to do my day job.

Is that enough?  Apparently not for me because I have subsequently volunteered to serve on the editorial board of the conference journal Dialogue, reading articles for publication in the journal (double blind submissions of course; that's the norm for academic journals).  Add to this that I also help select the graduate student paper stipend for an annual Pedagogy Award conference attendees (this part makes me the most nervous as I actually have to present the award at the conference keynote).

As a gaming nerd, I have also hosting an annual game night at the conference and helped to organize a dine around event for attendees to network with fellow academics.

Did I also mention I presented on Twitter and even managed to get an editorial publication in our journal this year?

All around, it's a busy, largely sleepless four days of academic and nerdy awesomeness and I wouldn't trade it for anything.  More on this later but for now, it's back to grading.  Yes, the day job doesn't ever end.

I Hate Money

NSFW!!!

Here's a little fiction for you, circa Y2K.  Any similarities to persons, living or dead, will result in me pleading the 5th.

Psychotropic forest

Dream wood forest warrior

Patterns light in darkness

Light fades into shadow

Batting silence

Bugs sidle the mirror face

Tartness flecks the tongue

Cellophane dried

On packing peanuts

And the journey begins

Marconi’s version of the truth:

            The Gila has always called me.  “Sooweet, motherfucker,” it screams, like Samuel L. Jackson would say as a guest on Green Acres. 

            So once again the Gila called to me so I knew I wanted to go somewhere into the Gila.  Upon Kruze’s suggestion of either Willow Creek or Snow Lake...

           

Marconi pauses mid joint rolling. 

He cackles madly as I type these words. 

He is upset that I have interrupted his words.

He spits the sweet venom

Of joy and innocence upon me

We light our way...

Marconi’s version of the truth:

            The paper must be clipped.  It was soooo tight...  No inspiration.  Lump o candle; even parents can love it has a beautiful household item.

            I had experimented with pot before and found it to be a very delightful and enlightening experienced.  It’s helped me see things in a new way, a gentle way compared to the other so called intoxicants.  It’s not harmless but it’s relatively so, especially compared to legal drugs like alcohol.

            I wanted to experience the new dimension that mushrooms would give me.  I hd read it was more intense but I was looking for something more than what pot has given me so far.  I knew I had nothing to fear about them.  I read it was gentle to your body like pot.  It sure tastes like shit though.

shit the flushing of the body

dream a little dream oh winking brown eye

we see the corn and peanuts

in your mound of the amorphous

bacterium

Marconi’s version of the truth:

            We loaded up the jeep with our supplies, the usual stuff for camping.  I rolled a couple of nice fat spliffs and Kruze grabbed the mushrooms.  The mushrooms weren’t what I expected.  They looked more like barnyard detritus, shit laying around a horses stable.  Possibly a mixture of straw, hay, and horse yummies thrown in?  Did I mention that they tasted bad?

oral nonplan

deconstructed trip

did I say that?

irony spews forth

liquid falling

in scenes to come...

Marconi’s version of the truth:

            Smart ass comments of sourpuss create laughter even in its deadly sting.  It’s time to back up.  We hit the road, hamburger... was waved through the bunghole patrol (Kruze’s note: are you a mexican sir?  *bang*) and pranced our way into the beautiful pastoral setting of the Gila.  the vulva.  our penetration of the gila puts us into a warm and pleasurable state of being (Kruze’s note: like a good hard shag).  in a way, we were making love with the forest.  as insignificant as we seemed, the warmth and spiritual wetness of the Gila rose to a perpetual swelling of our state of being.  engorged if you will.  The teasing strokes of the Gila coerced us in further and deeper, penetrating to the center of the forest’s potent vitality and creative force.

sexual mask

hair pie deep

spreading larger and deeper

until we

a green 4 wheel drive

vehicle of fertilization

descends to meet the

resin the cum

the juice of that protects

and gives life to the

pregnant woods

On the gravel road we saw a bear running up a hillside.  It was a rare treat for both of us.  Amazing how the wilderness inhabitants are rarely seen even here in their own home.

We continued north deeper into the forest.  Soon we drove through the tall ponderosa pines.  I love these trees because they symbolize the West so much for me.  Driving through these pines forests on such an isolated road makes me feel very much closer to nature.  I looked forward to mixing the mushroom experience with the beautiful vistas before my eyes.

fire danger low

dry as a fleck of desert sand

perhaps they want the fires

perhaps its time to raze the trees

and put micky dees and disney

in its place

The campground wasn’t exactly all we had hoped for, but we were definitely ready to get out of the car.  So we set up camp, had a bite to eat, then retired to the tent to begin the ritual.

Kruze divided the dried and crumbled mushrooms between us, giving me a bit more than half so I could have a more powerful first experience.  Awful nice of the guy since it was his mushrooms.

looks like dust

tiny fungal bones

white and dry

the desert of the birth

the desert of wonder

that does not share like

we do.  the desert does not

divide in two.

Despite the awful taste (did I tell you they taste like shit?), I managed to choke down my portion of the shrooms.  Now it was time to wait.  We decided to take a walk down by the nearby shallow lake.  It wasn’t until we returned with some firewood that I began to notice the mushrooms taking effect.  Things started to look closer.  As time passed, my sense of depth was increasingly distorted.  Objects halfway to eye level looked far closer to the ground than normal.  Kruze looked like a wise old gnome as he sat in his folding chair and peeled an orange.

sitting face aglow

the great gnome on his throne

no, it’s papa smurf

laughing his bearded laugh

tinted like neptunes orb

sinking reptilian into the patterned sand

During this time, I noticed a rapidly pulsing flicker, as if a weak strobe light were going on in my peripheral vision.  As the light faded, this strobe effect did as well, but I started noticing intricate geometric patterns in every object I stared at:  pine needles, tufts of grass, the bare earth, pieces of wood, and just about anything else I looked at.  (pause for a few tokes)

like snowflakes

patterns with no patterns

scattering chaos making order

“it’s in the darker areas too.”

yes.  yes it is.  and the strobe light has faded alot

like the arrival of night would accept

anything else

Group Story, Courtesy of My Students

So I have to preface this by saying:  I have done NO editing on this document whatsoever except to remove the contributors names from the content.  Spaces indicate when a new writer begins. Otherwise, it's as is and it's still evolving!  I started things rolling and even as I write this post, there is a new entry appearing via Google Magic on the page.  I'm getting a hoot out of the creativity of my students.  ENJOY!

On the night the zombies attacked, I was walking my dogs in the park, a typical after dinner activity.  But things were strangely quiet this night, with only the slightest breeze rustling the barren trees that had just be subjected by our first snow of the winter.  The sky was strangely illuminated as well, looking something like this, the shadows of the trees dancing lazily in the darkness.

Then the silence was broken by a single, strange crunching noise.

I twisted my head around like that of an owl to catch a glimpse of what may have caused the snapping of twigs behind me. My eyes squint as I scan the immediate surroundings. The dog, my guardian would be of no help tonight. His tail bent tightly beneath his legs while his ears were sharply pulled back. I knew he felt the same terror and uncertainty I had. I pulled out my flashlight, which was kept attached to my keychain. I had hopes of seeing a cat, maybe a squirrel, hell I would take the sight of a rabid dog over what I eventually saw. While panning the light back and forth over the bushes and large tree where the sound came from, I saw a slight rustle in the leaves. I slowly crept forward, my dog remained as if he was frozen in time, he would not move a muscle. I slowly bent down to put his leash on the ground before proceeding any further. That’s when it happened, that’s when I saw the worst possible sight. “Already?!? So soon!?! I thought we had more time, I thought we could leave before they ever made it here!” was the dialogue running through my head in the split second I caught a glimpse of the first undead in New Mexico.

I stood there for what felt like an eternity with my fear strictened guardian.  Debating what I should do to get both of us to safety, which turned out to be harder than I had originally planned for this worst case scenario.  Right now, the only thing I can think of doing is to throwing my flashlight in the opposite direction and running away for dear life while holding my loyalest friend.  I do not have much time to act, as the undead beast I believe has heard me moving by now.  I honestly do not know how distracted it can get, but I must try.  

So I throw my flashlight intending for it to draw the undead away from me.  Instead… it hits the beast smack dab in the head and it snaps its head quickly towards my direction.  I pick up my dog and run away like never before.  All I can think to myself is, “Undead? That thing… moved too fast… to be undead.  How?  Why? What are we really up against?”

It feels as if I have run almost a half a mile from where I spotted that thing.  I’m not sure if it has even followed me.  Suddenly, I run into an unsuspecting object.  All goes black for a few seconds, then realize it is my friend Jackson.  “Get up, now” he says while whispering,  “There are undead lurking all around us.  Keep yourself and that dog quite.”  I do as he says, while still in a haze not knowing fully where I am in this enormously oversized park...

We stood there looking, listening, stood so quiet you could hear the drop of a pin, then suddenly another noise crept near as and my dear friend and guardian slightly whimpers. As Jackson as I looked around we then realized we had to keep moving slowly and quietly to stay unseen and unheard. I am still unsure if the undead followed me but remembering how fast it had moved and still in the back of my mind, “I hit it with the flashlight! How could I be so reckless, so stupid?” Then we hear another creak, crunch, snap, and rustle in the leaves that have fallen from the trees, in the bushes, and twigs lying in the grass that my dear guardian loved playing fetch with so much. The noises seemed to be all around us.  We were terrified frozen and and still uncertain of what was called the “undead” when suddenly Jackson says were surrounded!!! What do we do where do we go????

I look at Jackson, who appears to be more calm than I. He suggests two options, we climb up the nearest tree and stake out up there for the night, then make a run for it during the day. Or we run now. I panic, as we do not really have much time to figure out which plan will be best. If we run now, we could attract more beasts by the sound of us rustling through the brush, and we cannot see clearly where we are going; “Stupid, stupid, me” I think to myself, for throwing my only source of light. On the other hand, if we climb up a tree, we’re stuck up there until dawn, and my four-legged friend will be a hassle to hang on to up in the branches. I ask Jackson, “Can those...beings climb?” Neither of us knows the answer to that question.
At this point, we can hear rustling getting closer, and know that either way, we need to act fast. Jackson picks up my terrier, zips him into his backpack, and starts his ascent. I have no choice but to follow.

It felt like we were on this journey for days when in reality it was less than an hour, with every step it seemed we were getting nowhere. Jackson still leading the way we are more than half way across the park, and have passed plenty of trees that seem suitable for the night yet we haven’t stopped. When just then he stops dead in his tracks and I follow not knowing what he has spotted. There it was so close I could touch it, holding my breath so that it didn’t notice we were there I hoped that my fury friend didn’t let a bark out..

Five minutes have passed and we are on the move again the question is “where exactly are we going?” When just then I see it, a tunnel with plenty of space for all three of us. As we get settled in we hear howling in the distance, what could it be.. A wolf? A dog? or is that the undead? Panicking we stay as still as possible. Whispering Jackson tells me “At dawn we leave, no exceptions.” Taking shifts on watch out I see one heading right towards our tunnel, now my decision is whether to wake Jackson or silently wait until it passes us by… hopefully!

I try to wait for the walker to pass by but suddenly I accidently bump into an old shopping cart as I was trying to hide in a more secure position. The noise alerted the walker and woke up Jackson, Jackson quickly stood up and saw that the walker was closing in on me. He grabs a pipe that was lying on the ground and sprints towards where im at. Jackson and I start to run out of the tunnel when more walkers start to appear, We stop and look for any escape routes, we’re trapped the only way out is to fight our way through the zombies. I grab two thick 4x4s, Jackson and I make eye contact as we both know that one of us may not make it out of this tunnel alive. Jackson sprints toward the walkers first, making a way for me to follow behind him, We start hitting, kicking, and punching as we fight our way through the tunnel. I hear a scream...Jackson is swarmed by 4 walkers. I try to go back to save him but he waves me off as the walkers take him to the ground and start eat away at Jackson….

I stood there terrified at the unimaginable horror of watching Jackson's helpless yelps as the walkers munched at his legs and torso. I stood frozen, unable to move a single muscle. My vision felt blurry and my heart was pounding while gasping for air. The fear of being eaten alive by these walkers had taken over my body. My legs felt so weak that I could hardly stand. “Breathe!!!” I kept on telling myself. “I need to run…. I need to run….”  I kept on telling myself. After a few more seconds, in what felt like minutes the fog on my vision began disappear.

I came to all senses and ran to……………

...the first tree that I could spot. I looked around, panicking. Trying desperately to calm down; to think straight. I dropped to the ground with my back against the tall rough tree trunk trying to catch my breath.That’s when I heard the ruffling of feet and groaning. SCRUNCH SCRUNCH SCRUNCH! The footsteps were getting closer and closer. My dogs started growling at the slow moving dark shadow. I thought to myself, “Shhhh! Please don’t bark or they will find us!”. I tried to calm him down by petting him, but he ignored my attempt to soothe him. I knew that it would only get worse from there…….and it did.

The groaning got louder as each step crept towards us . I started freaking out, trying to decide whether I should run or climb the tree. “Time is running out!” I thought. GRRARGH GRRARGH! It seemed as if the zombie were a few steps away from us. My dog’s growls soon turned into barks, and I knew at that moment I had no choice but to climb the tree. I pulled myself up the twisted branches with the last strain of energy I had left in me. I felt great relief that I was safe, for now at least.  I looked down at my dogs and at that very moment they pounced on the zombie, tearing at his flesh. I looked away, not bearing to see the horrific sight. I looked away only to see something more disturbing: there are more coming.

Everything started sinking in. I had thought this was a typical evening in the park with my dogs but it all turned so gruesome. In such a short time span me and my dogs were running away from what seemed an ever growing number of horrific monsters whose only purpose was to terrify us the living and make us one of their own. My dear friend Jackson, killed before my own eyes! It was too awful to think about, but at the moment I couldn’t manage to shed even a single tear for him. I was too frightened to cry. Could these undead be roaming the whole city? What if they are out there terrorizing and eating the flesh of the thousands of innocent men, women and children of my peaceful town? What if I make it home to find some of my family members and friends dead, having been eaten alive like Jackson was?

All of a sudden I grew even more fearful of the situation. This is silly I thought to myself. It must be a dream as it always is like on television. I pinched myself and closed my eyes hoping to wake up from this awful nightmare. Nothing. It was all the same. I looked down from where I was on the tree. One of my dogs was looking up at me while the other one looked into the large, noisy crowd of zombies that was approaching my tree as he growled and barked at them. Within that scary looking crowd of zombies I saw a familiar face: Jackson, now turned a zombie. He was a part of them now, and he wants to kill me. If I stay in this tree, I thought, I’m certainly going to be killed, and so will my dogs. I have to get off of here and make it home. I must know what happened to my family, not to mention I have weapons in my home in case I need them. I pulled myself together knowing this was the only way, and I slowly climbed off the tree.

As soon as my feet hit the ground my dogs and I started on an all out sprint to get home. I have never run so fast in my life, but the thought of not seeing my family again or even worse seeing them as a part of the living dead terrifies me to the point of near insanity. Finally after what seemed to be hours of intense all out sprinting to my home I raced inside to see what may have become of my family only to find them calmly sitting in the living room as if nothing were happening. This made me very uneasy, questioning whether in fact if what I just witnessed was real or all a fragment of my imagination. Then at that very moment I heard a very loud bang on the door reassuring me that what I experienced was real and had now followed me home. Quickly, almost instinctively I ran into the next room and grabbed as many weapons as I could carry and began distributing them among my family while also explaining to them the situation that was occurring right outside our door. Startled I  witnessed the same look of horror in every single member of my family’s eyes, the same look and feeling that I felt during my initial encounter with the undead, now however I knew we were in it together and would have to fight our way out in order to survive.

Quickly, I assured my family that these were walkers that will not only eat you alive, but will do so with no remorse as they were only looking to feed on flesh. I told my wife of 20 years, Jennifer Lopez to start locking all the doors and to bar all the windows. As for my only son Justin Bieber, I told him to take out the trash before it starts to smell like one of those walkers. As I was searching in the cabinets for alcohol, to make a Molotov cocktail, I noticed a face masked with blood looking through my kitchen window...it was Jackson. He was slowly scratching at the window as his nails ripped off his fingertips, there was only one thing left to do as he was smudging my window with those blood covered hands. I raised my .357 Magnum and aimed right between the eyes of Jackson, slowly cocked the hammer back and readied myself as I was about to deuce Jackson with a Hollow point. BAM!!! Shattering the window and blowing Jackson’s head to pieces, I got a glimpse as to what exactly kind of situation my family is in. The whole house was surrounded, at least 100 in the front of the house, and another 50 surrounding the rest of the house. I find some alcohol and ready a Molotov, as my wife screams from the back door, I rush to her plea and see that walkers have broken through the back door and were rushing in. My dogs were on the ready and were mauling the walkers as they swarmed in. With only five bullets in my .357, a box of 30 rounds and a Mossberg shotgun with 24 shells, my wife readies the shotgun and I light the Molotov rag, ready to fight...

My dogs started to bark abruptly when they heard the cracking in the background in the darkness of the night. I was cowardly afraid when I heard them barking my eyes started to dilate, my sense rose and my adrenaline was running fast through my body that I could feel my heart beating faster every second of anticipation. I didn't have time to react when suddenly another dog came out behind the bushes of the trees. This dog it didn't look normal it's body was decayed looking, you could see the muscles of it and some of its skin was drooling down from its mouth and exposing its big canine teeth, blood was covering every inch of it. My heart sunk to the ground in fear seeing this dog, as thought of in only horror stories that I have read.

This zombie dog let out a various sound and then it exposed its teeth even more and  jumped in the air and the dog landed on top of me, I tried to quickly grab a branch while trying not to get bit by this zombie dog by holding its neck. I then grab the branch and the zombie was biting down on the branch crushing  it with every crack and I was trying to get the zombie dog off me, out of nowhere my dogs started to attack the zombie dog. One of my dogs started to bite the zombie dog around its neck while the other one was biting at its side of its decayed body. Then I saw the most gruesome thing of all the zombie dog started to eat one of my dogs ripping its flesh open with its canine teeth, my dogs skin was all over the other zombies mouth.I could not scream because I was to terrified, I also wanted to puke at seeing this but I couldn't.Then the zombie dog looked at me with its piercing red eyes, still in shock without thinking I ran for my life leaving my dogs behind afraid of was to become of me if I stayed.

I ran and ran for what seemed forever, my dog chasing after me. I somehow was able to outrun the zombies as I reached an empty park. I sat on one of the picnic tables trying to catch my breath and to try and to process everything that was going on. Was this really happening? Where is everyone? Are they really zombies? as I started to calm down my dog started whimpering and whining. I suddenly just fell to the ground and started convulsing vigorously! I was terrified. I didn’t know what was happening. My dog, my companion was dying and there was nothing I could do. I fell to my knees and held his head in my hands, my tears gushing out. Then everything stopped.

My dog was dead. The night was silent, nothing but the sound of the breeze through the trees and the creaking of the swingsets. It took everything in my to get myself together and accept the fact that I was alone. I got up and picked up my backpack. I remembered I had a pocket knife. It’s something I thought to myself. As I put on my backpack and turned to leave I heard a growl behind me. I was petrified. I slowly turned around and I saw my dog right in his blistering red eyes growling at me for the first time…

I quickly pulled out my pocket knife, I had to choices, I could just give up and stop for safety i mean at this point what do i really have to lose? I had left my family behind not knowing if they made it to a safe place or if the would now be part of the hundreds of zombies behind me trying to feed off of me. Second choice, i could use the only weapon i had left to kill my my now zombie dog. At this point i was even considering giving up and letting my dog take care of me before any other zombie would, but then in between the dogs growling i hear my son yelling out my name, i looked everywhere and could not see him but his voice sound so close to me that it had to be real it could not be my imagination playing tricks on me. As i kept looking for my son my zombie dog got closer and closer when suddenly a bullet went straight to his head right in between his eyes.

Again my son’s voice called out my name, i looked up and there he was on top of the tree i felt so relieved to know that he had made it out of the house and most importantly that he had found me though i was wondering what had happened to his mother i kept my curiosity in. We then…

I heard the growls of the zombie dog, so I took off running towards my son. At this point I knew what I had to do, to protect my child. As I ran towards my son I could feel the dog close behind me. I yelled to jack to turn around and run to a safe place, that I would be right behind him. We ran into a nearby house and closed the door just in time before the dog got to us. We could hear the dog scratching and growling outside the door. Then we heard nothing but silence. I took a look out the window to see what had happen, when suddenly he breaks through the window knocking me down on the floor and my knife sliding towards the staircase as I fight to keep him from biting me. I felt his drool dripping out of his mouth as he was attacking me. I told Jack to run to the closet by the front entrance and close the door behind him.With every ounce I had I threw him off of me and reached for the knife. I got up off the floor looking for where he had gone. I looked all around and did not see him anywhere. I called Jack and told him let's go before he comes back.

We ran out the front door looking for where to hide. We came upon another home that seemed to be empty. We knocked on the door to see if anyone was home. No one came to the door so we turned the knob to see if the door was locked. To our luck it was. That's when we heard growls coming from behind us again. I grabbed Jack and took off running down the street yelling for help. I could feel the dog now scratching my legs with his teeth. As I ran with Jack in my arms I tripped over a tree branch that broke off. Falling to the floor I threw Jack into the lawn of the house in front and told him to run inside. I turn to see the dog right on top me now, and with my knife in my hand now I battled with the dog trying to stab it. I slowly open my eyes waking  up from my nap seeing my dog on top of me licking my face…

Is this just a dream or was this reality? As I am awakening from my haze I look around and wonder where I am at and how I got here. I see a house out of the corner of my eye and recognize the neighborhood. I glaze into the night sky wondering when this nightmare would end. The dog licks my face and I go to rub the slobber off finding what appears to be blood. Head wound, not good. This was reality, now it is time to survive.

I sprint unsteadily to the door as I am applying pressure to my head wound. Undone from reality I look over to Jack who gives me a reasurring look that says it will be okay. I look for something other than my hand to apply pressure to my wound. There in the cabinets I find towels and hastily apply.

Style Chameleon

I've been told, repeatedly, that I can write well.  That is, I can write well if I writing well you mean I can copy the style of famous writers.  I blame my high school English teachers, who encouraged us to write sonnets in the style of Shakespeare and Browning, cantos that would prompt a new level in Dante's hell, and tales that would make even Chaucer blush (and that guy was clearly a big old perv).

Take, for example, this little excerpt from a geocaching puzzle I created.

That's right: if you want someone who can copy pulp horror writers from the 1930s, I'm your guy (HP Lovecraft probably would have sued me though)

Or how about Arthur Conan Doyle?  Yep, I can copy him too:

I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes upon the second morning after Christmas, with the intention of wishing him the compliments of the season. He was lounging upon the sofa in a purple dressing-gown, a pipe-rack within his reach upon the right, and a pile of crumpled morning papers, evidently newly studied, near at hand. Beside the couch was a wooden chair, and on the angle of the back hung a very seedy and disreputable hard-felt hat, much the worse for wear, and cracked in several places. It is indeed true that fortune favors the few.  A lens and a forceps lying upon the seat of the chair suggested that the hat had been suspended in this manner for the purpose of examination.

"You are engaged," said I; "perhaps I interrupt you."

"Not at all. I am glad to have a friend with whom I can discuss my results. The matter is a perfectly trivial one"--he jerked his thumb in the direction of the old hat--"but there are points in connection with it which are not entirely devoid of interest and even of instruction.  Supposing we read this headline in your dear paper, Benevolent Benefactor Belays Funds.  And what would take from this, my dear Watson?"

I seated myself in his armchair and warmed my hands before his crackling fire, for a sharp frost had set in, and the windows were thick with the ice crystals. "I suppose," I remarked, "that, homely as it looks, this thing has some deadly story linked on to it--that it is the clue which will guide you in the solution of some mystery and the punishment of some crime."

"No, no. No crime," said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. "Only one of those whimsical little incidents which will happen when you have four million human beings all jostling each other within the space of a few square miles. Amid the action and reaction of so dense a swarm of humanity, every possible combination of events may be expected to take place, and many a little problem will be presented which may be striking and bizarre without being criminal. We have already had experience of such."

"So much so," I remarked, "that of the last six cases which I have added to my notes, three have been entirely free of any legal crime, such as the case of the Dowager Dowry who paid in Ducats."

"Precisely. You allude to my attempt to recover the Irene Adler papers, to the singular case of Miss Mary Sutherland, and to the adventure of the man with the twisted lip. Well, I have no doubt that this small matter will fall into the same innocent category. You know Peterson, the commissionaire?  He is a simple man and, as we well know, nothing favors the weak, twice again."

"Yes."

"It is to him that this trophy belongs."

"It is his hat."

"No, no, he found it. Its owner is unknown. I beg that you will look upon it not as a battered billycock but as an intellectual problem. And, first, as to how it came here. It arrived upon Christmas morning, in company with a good fat goose, which is, I have no doubt, roasting at this moment in front of Peterson's fire. The facts are these: about four o'clock on Christmas morning, Peterson, who, as you know, is a very honest fellow, was returning from some small jollification and was making his way homeward down Tottenham Court Road. In front of him he saw, in the gaslight, a tallish man, walking with a slight stagger, and carrying a white goose slung over his shoulder. As he reached the corner of Goodge Street, a row broke out between this stranger and a little knot of roughs. One of the latter knocked off the man's hat, on which he raised his stick to defend himself and, swinging it over his head, smashed the shop window behind him. Ah, the folly of fools forever follows us, does it not, Watson?  In any case, Peterson had rushed forward to protect the stranger from his assailants; but the man, shocked at having broken the window, and seeing an official-looking person in uniform rushing towards him, dropped his goose, took to his heels, and vanished amid the labyrinth of small streets which lie at the back of Tottenham Court Road. The roughs had also fled at the appearance of Peterson, so that he was left in possession of the field of battle, and also of the spoils of victory in the shape of this battered hat and a most unimpeachable Christmas goose."

"Which surely he restored to their owner?"

"My dear fellow, there lies the problem. It is true that 'For Mrs. Henry Baker' was printed upon a small card which was tied to the bird's left leg, and it is also true that the initials 'H. B.' are legible upon the lining of this hat, but as there are some thousands of Bakers, and some hundreds of Henry Bakers in this city of ours, it is not easy to restore lost property to any one of them."

"What, then, did Peterson do?"

"He brought round both hat and goose to me on Christmas morning, knowing that even the smallest problems are of interest to me. The goose we retained until this morning, when there were signs that, in spite of the slight frost, it would be well that it should be eaten without unnecessary delay.

So the question is:  how does this amount to anything other than a passing fancy, tripping daisies, or elucidating nonsense?  

Now there's the real question.