I watched The Trip for a second time this weekend after spending four hours idiotically re-grouting the kitchen floor. (Mission accomplished, but damn, that was a workout to the knees.) This movie is a great buddy flick with a great understated message. If you don’t like the below clip, then this movie is probably not going to make you laugh:

After a week of taking NyQuil to go to sleep, my head cold is still lingering and blowing my nose with heavy duty paper towels still seems necessary. Luckily, theres’s Shithead which goes well with that 3:00 pm DayQuil lightheadedness.

I recently found some great tools for WordPress that are really productive. The Theme Test Drive plugin allows you test drive a theme for a live site, viewable only to the Admin level user. This is great for customizing an existing theme on the fly. Another great tool is MAMP, which stands for Mac, Apache, MySQL, PHP, and is a one click solution for a personal local web server. If you need to rebuild the markup of a live WordPress site from the ground up, and need a lot more than CSS modifications, this tool is just what you need. There is a Windows version as well called WAMP.

Here’s a great video on how to install WordPress and MAMP:

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zwQ25807vWM&feature=related[/youtube]

Here’s a simple text explanation on how to install WordPress and MAMP.

This past weekend, I went camping with Melissa and Gemini Wolf (Mike & Meg) and their pooch, Frida, to escape our computers and hang in the woods at Colonel Denning State Park in Doubling Gap, PA. The Phillies had just lost Game 5 of the NLDS and our plans to escape Philly couldn’t have been more timely.

The designated areas of Colonel Denning were a little cramped and rocky, but trying to perfect the campfire, cooking, and hiking with minimal gear made it edgy and exciting. Trying to force the ultimate bad 80s earworm was an omnipresent theme.

The neighboring RV had Christmas-lighted Mickey Mouse ears and a pink flamingo ensemble that, from afar in the dark while trying to scope out meteor showers, looked like our camp site’s smoldering fire was suddenly raging out of control. Just a modest freakout by me.

The Flat Rock trail was a highlight, which is a short distance of 2.5 miles, but a steep elevation that led to nice overlook of Cumberland Valley. Many hawks coasted about while a view of farmland and a distant nuclear power plant just made ya want to eat two Clif Bars in one sitting, which is almost impossible.

Frida was a champion hiker and had a blast trampling through streams and mud while chasing chipmunks.

Yoga on the trail?

This video from our recent vacation in New England looks like I’m stalking my wife, Melissa.

I’ve recently vacated the premises of Philly and headed with my wife to New England. We rented a sage / puke colored Hyundai Sonata and cruised north to escape Fishtown, desktop computers, and work.

We started at Newport, Rhode Island, roaming around Thames Street and taking in the boat scene along the piers and hob-knobbing amid some antique stores, Asterisk restaurant, and a double dose of gelato.

Hanging on the docks…

It was the first time that I stayed at a Bed & Breakfast, and we lucked out with the Artful Lodger. They promised a stellar breakfast, and I have to admit it was a bit odd walking to the third floor conservatory room to suddenly share a feast with strangers that were in adjacent rooms, but they were all cool. Mike and Lieza dished up some tasty omelettes, pastries, and fattened us big time.

At The Artful Lodger

The Cliff Walk along the ocean made for a mixed experience of gazing at natural beauty and gawking at old mansions that nobody lives in anymore. The trail is kind’ve narrow, so you have to constantly get out of the way for people. We soon realized nobody gets out of the way for anybody and must always walk side-by-side. They love each other that much.

Satisfied Cliff Walker.

Next, we hit the road to Hampton Falls, New Hampshire for two days of tent camping at Wakeda Campground. We got hooked up with D60, one massive campsite next to Frog Pond. There was hardly anybody camping at all, aside from a few perma-RV older folks. While walking around, we were called upon by some old lady who was grilling chicken and didn’t have time for a stray Jack Russell terrier that had embraced her. So, we took Snoopy along with us. Luckily, the owner was able to u-turn back to camp and pick him up. But it was fun having a pet for an hour.

Melissa and Snoopy get to know each other.

We couldn’t get a fire going, as the bundle we bought was quite damp. So, we bagged it after a while and retreated to the tent to eat hot peppered chocolate and Hennepin Ommegang, which was a dumb idea as the caffeine kept me up all night mixed with paranoia from some odd creature that moaned a two syllable phrase.

Our new “sleeping bag for two” was warm and spacious. Crows guaranteed that we got up early with their cawing the next morning, and pushed us toward a day trip at Portsmouth, New Hampshire for breakfast at the eclectic The Friendly Toast, where you can stair up at pieces of carnival rides from the 60s. We then roamed around Prescott Park and took a mini-nap on the grass, hitting up The Juicery, eating cookies, and admiring the serene practically litter-free town.

Beautiful Portsmouth, NH

Get your juice on. PS: If you’re over six foot tall, you can’t walk in The Juicery without crouching.

Memorial Bridge to from Portsmouth, NH to Kittery, ME.

I got a slight burn on my face, but that didn’t stop us from checking out Hampton Beach to stick our feet in the ocean and fly our massive 50 foot long kite.

Melissa flies our kite on Hampton Beach, NH

Back at the campsite, we got the fire going with some new drier wood and cooked up a variety of veggie burgers and Jiffy Pop. We awoke to rain pelting the tent and packed the car back up to head to Mount Washington Valley.

At the Rockin’ Diner in Rochester, NH

There were cottages that we were to stay at in Bartlett, NH, but after we arrived, I didn’t like that they were practically on the highway, surrounded by ant traps, and had a lurking weird staff. I said, fuck it, and we headed to North Conway, NH in the hopes of finding a much better place.

We scored a great three night stay at Eastern Slope Inn & Resort. The historic inn had a great welcoming feel to it, the staff accommodating, and their were some great perks there. We made use of the hot tub, pool, attached Flatbread restaurant, and Frontside Grind coffee shop. North Conway wasn’t overly crowded, as it was in between the summer season and too early for the autumn leaf peeper crowd.

Eastern Slope Inn & Resort

Flatbread…. a damn fine establishment!

The Conway Scenic Railroad sunset ride was fun, but void of much scenery, including a view of the sunset. WTF? But, the railroad staff made it loose, including one young dude that was delighted to share every nugget of Hurricane Irene devastation he had to help clean up.

Hiking up to the pinnacle of Mt. Washington was out of the question, as I can barely jog for 30 minutes straight, so we did the ultra touristy Mt. Washington Auto Road. (Love their web site, btw.) We put the Hyundai Sonata to the fucking limit with this ascension, put it in low gear, and cruised on up the 7.6 miles.

They give you a free CD to listen to safety tips and history, but after 10 minutes the guy just irritates the hell out of ya and you just have to focus on the road. There are no guard rails or room for error, and you can easily fall off the side. I can’t imagine driving this in any condition other than bone dry.

Once you get to the top, you soon see that there are some magnificent views. We got lucky though. It can easily be a torrential downpour or Cloud City up there. Courageous hikers appear near where you park you car, making you feel like a spineless douche. Of course, the summit also has a gift shop, museum, and cafeteria.

Melissa is at one with the clouds.

Atop Mount Washington

Atop Mount Washington

Trains atop Mount Washington? Yeah, kind’ve odd.

Upon descension, we did some hiking on some Pinkham Notch trails, but many of them were badly battered from Hurricane Irene. Without the tree markers, we would have been lost easily.

Trying not to get lost…

Cruising the 34 miles of the Kancamagus Highway and stopping long the many outlooks, as well as some hiking was a true escape from the SEPTA fumes and “whaddup bitch?!” sounds of our beloved Memphis Street. Moat Mountain Brewing made for a nice end to the New Hampshire experience.

Melissa at Moat Mountain Brewing

Along a trail off the “Kanc”. We stumbled upon a fresh batch of bear shit, I believe, on the trail.

Hurricane Irene damage on the “Kanc”. Benches torn out of pathways.

Moat Mountain Brewing outdoor ash tray.

I’m dozing off here, but the last moments of our trip were enjoying the lush Green Mountains of Vermont, transfixion at a roadside Vermont Country Store, and realizing how bad the food is at The Recovery Sports Grill in Albany, NY.

And now, over to you, Melissa, for the 5-day forecast.

I recommend the Hyundai Sonata for road trips. No probs at all.

I’ve watched Michael McDermott, a.k.a Mikronesia, an amazing multi-instrumentalist, composer, and producer, perform in various bands since the late 90s. Throughout the years, he’d mention something about a musical project he wanted to undertake called Pangaea, a grand theatrical and multimedia opera about when the continents were one. On 11/11/11, we’ll all finally get to see this masterpiece live at the Rotunda in University City, Philadelphia.

I don’t know much about what Pangaea will entail, so I’ll let the video below do the talking. But I’ll say that Mikronesia is one of the most amazing recording artists and live performers that I’ve ever seen. If I lived in Montana, I’d be listening to his works online and buying his albums. But, I’m fortunate enough to see him live in Philly. I’m telling you, this guy does not disappoint. This will be a 70 minute visual and auditory feast, and from the teaser below, sounds like it’s guaranteed to blow your mind. As for Pangaea itself, there’s some people on Ancestry.com that you cannot trace. Support this great Philadelphia sound artist today!

I was sitting in my cubicle when Dana shouted “Oh, my god a plane has hit the World Trade Center!” I thought about it for a moment and pictured a small biplane bouncing off the building and exploding, some novice caught up in a dare or just some suicidal disgruntled employee.

Dana and I rarely hung out much, but I found myself teetering around her cube as she spoke on the phone with her Mom who was getting news from her TV. Nothing was on the internet yet. Dana was generating a crowd of disbelief.

I rarely sat in my cubicle the rest of the day. Everyone was roaming around restlessly as the news slowly trickled in. When new headlines appeared online, people would shout them out loud. The large boardroom became the sole place to view the live footage on TV, but it was mainly occupied by Vice Presidents. I was just a lowly Web Designer that had been at the company for just over a year, so I stayed away from their lair of media.

At lunch, I went with the fellas to Soprano’s Deli and sat outside in the gorgeous 72 degree day, eating pristine gourmet Italian sandwiches, chatting with the Italian waitress as usual, but all with a dazed wonderment. We gazed at the sky that was usually filled with planes and jet streams and saw nothing but blue.

My parents were somewhere flying across the Atlantic Ocean from Spain, heading back to Philadelphia from vacation. I had been dog-sitting for the past ten days at their new condo in Media, PA. I was enjoying the short commute to Newtown Square, PA, and an escape from Manayunk where I lived with two friends. After work, I spent most of the time hanging with Bridget, a short haired Border Collie, or recording music on a 4-track cassette recorder, such as this instrumental:

I eventually got a hold of my parents. They had to make a u-turn over the Atlantic and head back to Spain. While flying they were notified that America was attacked, but had received no initial details. Eventually, a stewardess presented a fax to people questioning what was going on. My Dad said he was enraged and wanted to sing the Battle Hymn Of The Republic, while my Mom was primarily tearing up and in wondering where Shanksville, PA was and if it was close to anyone she knew.

When I got home, I really just wanted to watch the news and find out more about what had happened. I had a date lined up with a girl, Eliza, that I had met on Match.com. It was the first girl that I had met through online dating and this was to be our second date. She was from Argentina and loved to spend money on high fashion, jewelry, and perfume. Why she dug me, I had no clue.

We had tickets to go see her favorite band, Ben Folds, at the Theatre Of Living Arts on South Street. I was hoping she would want to cancel, or that Ben Folds would cancel, but no dice. I didn’t even care for the music of Ben Folds, and couldn’t name one of his songs. The show goes on.

I met Eliza at a coffee shop. She was giddy and jumping up and down. She was the same age as me, 27, but I soon felt fifteen years older than her. She spoke of the day’s terror as if it was intestinal flu, a national inconvenience at best, and she was hardly jaded. I felt like anything dealing with art, music, and words of fiction were to be put on hiatus.

Ben Folds made a slight mention to the strange events of the day and soon the crowd started singing Happy Birthday. I had no idea what was going on, but it was Ben’s birthday as well and the fans that loved him so much wouldn’t let him sing another song without paying tribute.

After the show, Eliza insisted we wait for Ben Folds and his band to pack up and embrace the band as they entered their tour bus. At the TLA, there was only one way in and one way out for bands and fans alike. Two hours after the show, I shook hands with Ben Folds and took a photo of Eliza hip hugging Ben. He smiled through his exhaustion, and that was the last time I saw Eliza again.

I spent the rest of the week recording music, watching CNN, and wondering what neighborhood my parents would move to next. Their condo had strange rules and my Dad couldn’t hang his American flag out front. There was a nice path to walk Bridget, but that’s about all the community had going for it. They wanted to move on and find a new home.

A few days later I received a postcard from Spain with my Dad’s enormous handwriting that simply stated “See you when I see you”.