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Amoeba Records should have its own zip code. After 2 hours of perusing and deliberating, carefully weighing my options and going through an extremely painful process of elimination, I selected 12 cds. Oh hell, I'll just list them. I need a way to affirm myself...and my aching wallet. If that's not what a blog is for I just don't know what is!1. Louis Andriessen: Writing to Vermeer [Nonesuch; De Nederlandse Opera; Schoenberg Ensemble and Asko Ensemble: Susan Narucki, Soprano; Susan Bickley, Mezzo; Barbara Hannigan, Soprano; Reinbert de Leeuw, conductor]2. Harrison Birtwistle : Secret Theatre [Deutche Grammophon; Ensemble Intercontemporain; Pierre Boulez, conductor]3. Luigi Dallapiccola: Orchestral Works [Stradivarius; Orchestra Sinfonica Nazionale della RAI: Jean Guihen Queyras, Cello; Pascal Rophe, conductor]4. Helmut Lachenmann : Schwankungen am Rand [ECM: Ensemble Modern; Peter Eotvos, director]5. Bjork: Selmasongs6. Bjork: Medulla7. Frank Black: Teenager of the Year8. Miriam Makeba: Homeland9. The Roches: Moonswept10. Tom Waits: Blood Money11. Tom Waits: Mule Variations12. Tom Waits: Real Gone.:Sometimes I feel very pathetic. Must get a life. Must.
Yesterday was the second of my hikes at South Chagrin Reservation. Since I just barely made it into the forest trails last week, I decided to hit the woods in a serious way this time around. A couple of friends (the kind and patient duo of Joe Neville and Karl Konz) and I trekked around several trails in the "heart of the forest" (at least that's what the map said), for the most part following the contour of the Chagrin River. Now, the tricky thing about forest trails...they all pretty much look exACTly the same to me. Even while following a trail map (the ones provided by the Cleveland Metroparks have proved to be next to useless) AND using my new fancy shmancy compass/thermometer/whistle/LED light/magnifier/mirror (It called to me from the shelf at Dick's Sporting Goods), we managed to amble around in circles, repeatedly coming back to the same landmarks. That's also the thing about circles. One minute you're going east, the next west, then east again, then west again--so who knows where anybody's headed? 
When, eventually, we made a command decision to head across the River (I had to apologize for Joe and Karl's shoes), we found all kinds of new things, including the Sulphur Springs Trailhead and picnic area--kind of a surreal scene, complete with a doppelganger of Cousin Eddie from the National Lampoon movies (we're talking wife beater, cut-off jean shorts, shin-length white tube socks, and white Reeboks--I'm a jerk) and some people walking around in the shallows of the river carrying a cat. Weird.Past Sulphur Springs, we did a lot of uphilling, meandering around, seeing barely any trail markers, though they weren't exactly necessary because we could actually see SOM Center Road from the trail. Nature is a funny thing. It has no trouble being itself next to its opposite, whereas I had trouble avoiding grumbles about the sound of the cars interrupting my "natural" experience. What did I expect, really? We weren't exactly in uncharted territory--thank goodness, though it kind of felt like we were when we eventually got so turned aro
und that we decided to screw it and do our last mile and a half of hiking along the highway to get back to where we started. Joe's GPS, unlike mine, is actually helpful. Lovely homes along SOM Center and Miles Road. Really, quite lovely. Just go on and call me Nature Girl from here on out. Fiasco? Perhaps. But things could've been worse. For example, I could've gotten us all killed by yellow jackets. That would've definitely been worse. And we could've been so self-involved that we unintentionally ignored all that nature, even in small doses next to major highways, has to show us. She really is beautiful, when I let myself see her, when I get over the fact that I'm not in my realm, but in hers. As Father Gary says, "Don't let your road map keep you from getting lost and collecting seashells." So, in essence, were we lost, or just allowing ourselves to be where we were? *Insert reflective pause for existential moment*"Not all those who wander are lost..." J.R.R. Tolkien 
We ended our excursion with a little drive into Chagrin Falls for some shakes at the Popcorn Shop. Nice day....Nice day.
I've started a ne
w project, where I take a hike a week. Yesterday was the first, through the South Chagrin Reservation, along the Chagrin River. Now I am, by no means, a skilled hiker. I guess I've hiked a lot, and I do hike from time to time, but I can't exactly read a topo map, and I don't know the names of plants or the difference between an escarpment and a hillside. Mostly, it just makes me happy to be outdoors. What exactly the difference is between hiking and walking, I'm not quite sure...Maybe...it's hiking if you're wearing a backpack?
So I begin my hike, sporting a pair of red Nikes and a Manhattan Portage backpack (VERY hardcore-hiker-looking, I know). I had planned to follow the Great Blue Heron Trail along the Chagrin River, up to the Swallow Loop Trail and back--all in all, 8ish or so miles.
The Great Blue Heron trail head was easy enough to find, right next to the Polo Fields, as it said on the map. Once I figured out which way was North, which took about 20 minutes and left me feeling quite pathetic (note to self--procure a compass--My Blackberry's GPS gets confused), I was on my way!
So there I am, marching along, smelling the sweet, grassy forest air, feeling pretty great about life and my new vow to be adventuresome... Ahh.. beautiful day, ge
ntle breeze, enjoying th--KERSPLUNK! I find myself ankle-deep in a gucky mixture of mud and water with a little algae growing on top of it. Awesome. Nature! I can do this. What kind of novice hiker would I be if I let a little greenish-brown guck get in the way of my divine communion with Mother Earth? [Answer: a novice--exactly what I am--which should've given me a clue, but didn't]. I press onward, following what KIND of looks like a trail, but is mostly obscured by the 6-foot tall grass-plant-reed thingies that surround it for what seem like swimming pools of distance on either side (I'm exaggerating, of course, but at the time, I didn't think I was). The tall plant things become denser and denser, covering more and more of the "trail" until I can barely see my feet, and KERSPLUNK! Yet again. The guck returns. [I keep having flashbacks to that scene in Troop Beverly Hills where Shelley Long and her troop are wading through a swamp with a tennis racket because the Red Feathers (those bitches) turned the trail flags around.--It would've been nice to have a tennis racket right then.] The mosquitoes are now basically congregating in a cloud around my face. I can't see more than a foot in front of or behind me for all the damn foliage. I didn't realize I'd be taking a hike through the frickin' Vietnam jungle! I seem to recall having seen a marker for a bridle trail when I first entered the Great Blue Demon--We have a choice here: Would I rather continue to bat my way through the bush or dodge horse poop for three miles? Well Fuck this shit. Completely disoriented, I turn around and attempt to make my way back the way I came, back through the guck, back through the swimming pools of tall plants, now holding my arms in front of me after being repeatedly smacked in the face. By some kind of miracle from Jesus, I come to a clearing, though it isn't the one I started at, and there she is: SC1--Scenic Bridle Trail. ROUND 2.
The Bridle trail is wide, open, and goes through fields of wildflowers, often meandering along a roadside or two. And as it turns out, SC1 runs parallel to the Great Blue He
ron. I do the bridle thing for a while, passing families with small children, geriatric walkers, runners, horse-back riders--of course, dog-walkers...I take a few close-up photos of flowers. It's beautiful. I'm bored.
Back to the bush!
Knowing exactly what I'm getting myself into this time, I plunge through the tall plants with a vengeance! Occasionally, the Blue Heron will dump me out at the river's edge, where the world opens up. I snap a few photos, have a transcendentalist moment, and eat some trailmix before sloshing my way across to the rest of the trail. At one point, four feet in front of me, a doe leaps across the trail, disappearing into the tall grasses. Eventually, I end up at the Squaw Rock Loop, which takes me up a hill and along a ridge overlooking the river. It's cooler in the heights, with a lovely canopy and a little more terrain, kind of perfect, actually. Reminds me the hike my family used to take every year in Helen, Georgia on our camping trip. How very pleasant! I pass a few little waterfalls and decide to take the bridle trail back, coming across a wetland and an abundance of wildflowers--well worth the gucky start!
Definitely--Not Walking.
I never did find the Swallow Loop Trail. Maybe next tim
e.
Amoeba Records should have its own zip code. After 2 hours of perusing and deliberating, carefully weighing my options and going through an extremely painful process of elimination, I selected 12 cds. Oh hell, I'll just list them. I need a way to affirm myself...and my aching wallet. If that's not what a blog is for I just don't know what is!
