Maverick, you're at three-quarters of a mile. Call the ball.Roger -- Maverick has the ball!

They went out past the young sentry, who paid the visitor no attention.  The sun was shining and in spite of the cold there were a few bucks and does at silflay, keeping out of the wind as they nibbled the shoots of spring grass.  It seemed to Hazel that he would not be needing his body anymore, so he left it lying on the edge of the ditch, but stopped for a moment to watch his rabbits and try to get used to the extraordinary feeling that strength and speed were flowing inexhaustibly out of him into their sleek young bodies and healthy senses.

-- Richard Adams, Watership Down

My point of observation is the trail that runs behind the Alumni House and down to the river in North Bennington.  It runs through some woods to a road.  Then you follow some signs until you arrive at another trail.  This other trail is known as The Mile Around The Woods. It has several different entry points, and most of them lead you into fields and farmland.  The fields, like the forest, are a pleasant surprise to come upon.  They are both beautiful.  When it rains it gets muddy, and when it hasn't rained, it's usually still wet.

Once you've walked The Mile Around The Woods, you can follow a dirt road down behind the Park McCullough House.  From here you will probably find yourself on West Street, and from here you can probably get to any road in either North or South America -- I assume.  If you're a Bennington student, you'll probably take West Street over to Powers Market then up the hill to campus -- I suppose.  Because by now you'll have been walking for some time.  Once on campus you'll probably do something besides walking through the woods and down the road.  Maybe homework?  I guess?

The first time I walked on the trail behind the Alumni House, I did all of the aforementioned things.  Though it didn't occur to me until a few moments ago that you could get almost to anywhere in North, South, and even Central America from West Street.  That said, it wouldn't have come as a surprise if you had told me that yesterday -- the realization I just now had, that is. 

The second time I walked on the trail, the day after hurricane Hanna had passed through, there was suddenly a small stream running right through the trail.

I find myself here now, once again, for the purpose of observing sound.  Well -- I knew I was coming here before I left, but the word "find" stills feels appropriate.

I'm here to observe the sound of this spot, and I'm doing this because I was instructed to do so.  Upon getting to the spot, Randall Neal helps me to remember that sound is a blessing.  Not just some sounds -- all of them.  He found this out, like me, from John Cage -- I think.

Sitting here, I realize that all I see and feel is a blessing.  If you had told me this yesterday, it would not have come as a surprise, but it would have been a blessing to be reminded, and if I had felt in that moment as I do now, I would have experienced a deep love for you and all that was around. 

So now I come to the sounds.  The first thing I will speak of is the sound of a flowing stream.  It is a sound (made up of too many sounds to count) in the middle of high and low, and it is a constant sound.  In many places the water falls from one level to another, and it is here that I observe the sound of falling water.  It sounds not unlike a typical backyard fountain or a CD you might hear when receiving a massage.  It is the sound of several hundred breaking points coming together at almost the same time.  In the distance there are additional places where the water falls, and for one reason or another, the breaking points sound different.

If you listen to the breaking points that are closer and then the ones that are further away and then the ones that are in between, you find that they all have subtle differences.  No two breaking points are alike.  There is an infinite amount of nuance in a matter of a few feet.  There is also much to be observed with the eyes, but this will have to be written down at a different time.

Then there is the sound of the wind blowing through the trees.  This sound has an ebb and flow as the wind changes its intensity.  As you listen to the wind blowing through the countless number of leafs and observe their rustle, you can start to hear a sound very similar to a distant rumble of water.  This rumble of water, I'm imagining, would have to be much larger than the stream, which wills itself past me with the help of gravity and perhaps even God. I'm talking about the rumble of a large waterfall, a hundred yards or so away.

Beyond this there is the sound of the passing traffic on the road not far below.  The large trucks are the most obvious autos for obvious reasons.  This sound is like the sound of a truck from three hundred yards away.  Then there are the sounds of the cars, which are not all that unlike the sounds of the trucks.  The cars tend to be quieter; but upon careful attention, you find no two autos or trucks sound the same.  This could be said for three of them, also.

At one point a car horn blows, and I become frightened.  Then I chuckle out loud, even though no one is around.  My ego assures me that I am tough, despite the fact that I have just been scared. 

The sounds of the stream, wind, and trees are in the foreground.  These sounds are constant in their presentation to my ears.  The flowing water, when observed as a singular sound, is very much sustained.  The wind in the trees comes and goes but is never fully gone.  The autos are sporadic, and their sound comes in and out of the sounds of the forest.  It is important to note, however, that with the eyes closed and mind open, the sounds of the autos do not seem foreign or invasive to the forest world.  They have an effect I would equate to an otter swimming about in the sea.  Even though the otter moves freely through the water, it is still one-hundred percent supported by the water.   

Last but not least are the sounds of the birds.  What kinds of birds, I cannot say.  The only birds I know by sound are crows and woodpeckers, and these are neither.  I also know ducks and geese and probably others, if I really thought about it.  Strangely enough, it is the sound of the birds that seems most foreign to the woods.  Perhaps it is because their calls are so few and far between.  Perhaps it is because these sounds are from living, breathing creatures and seem somehow contrived.  It might not feel right to say that about a bird, but out here, right now, it somehow does.

The birdcalls seem to be entering this world from another world.  When the otter is swimming underwater and a human being throws a large rock (not too large -- otherwise, it would be to difficult to throw) into the water, it is possible that the otter perceives the sound in the same way, as foreign or invasive.  (Here we must suspend our disbelief and imagine that the otter has the mental capacity to think in these terms.)  Similarly, if the otter is swimming in an area where there is a lot of boat traffic (hopefully it is being very careful), perhaps its perception of the boats is similar to my perception of the autos.  Our experiences are different in that I'm hearing sounds I'm accustomed to hearing but hearing them in a different place, whereas the otter is hearing sounds it is accustomed to hearing in the place it spends most of its time. (?)

Interesting to note -- I did not imagine the sounds of autos when thinking about what I would hear when I arrived.  The only sound I imagined hearing was the sound of the stream.  I feel kind of silly for imagining this.  Remembering back to previous trips to wooded areas, it is very common to hear the sounds of autos in the distance, not to mention all the other sounds I mentioned above.  I did not even imagine the sound of birds previous to my trip.  The birds, which seem somehow foreign to the other sounds, are still very much a natural part of the experience.  All of the sounds are essential to the whole of the experience.

Each is a blessing.

How Nice.

Waited on the thunder!

Days 6-8 (which is one number and one dash away from my second favorite number!) ...

I've been discovered by security -- sort of, anyway.

They have a new guy working: Rick, from New Orleans.  Super nice guy.  So I'm on my way to the car last night; I've got a sleeping bag, and it's 2:30 in the morning. I'm about halfway between my studio and where my car is parked when I see a set of headlights heading my direction.  I think about hiding, but I decide I should just keep walking to my car and put away my sleeping bag, which I do.  The security guy, Rick, stops and asks how it's going, and if I'm pulling a long one tonight.

I say, "Yeah, I've got some more work to do in my studio."

He tells me not to forget to lock my studio, which is good advice, and we talk for awhile.  We talk about his friend, who's driving to Vermont for a visit.  His friend lives in Flint, Michigan, which is not too far from where I live in Detroit. We talk about his son. Then I tell him how fast it is, driving from MI to VT, to go through Canada -- it's a straight shot through Ontario. You have to swing down below Lake Erie, back up again, and drive across New York to get to VT through the States.  He says he'll tell his friend and drives off.

I walk back to my studio and turn on the light and wait for him to finish his rounds.  Once I see him drive past, I'lI know he's on his way to the other end of campus.  There's only one road to this side of campus; past my studio are only a couple of faculty houses and a loop back around.

So he drives by, and I wait about ten minutes, just to be safe, and then I'm off to dreamland with Little Nemo.

Two hours later I'm woken up by the sound of a car idling outside of my car.  I suspect security, but I think that he's just doing another set of rounds.  I wait until he's gone, then I wait another ten minutes to make sure he's looped back around -- because if he hasn't already, he'll be more than able to in ten minutes.  (It takes about one and a half minutes to go down and loop around -- if that.)

The reason I'm waiting is that I've realized, upon waking up, that I have to pee maybe worse than I ever have in my entire life.  Even though I haven't peed the bed in like 25 years, at this point I'm seriously surprised I haven't peed the Jeep.  That's how bad I have to go.

So once I figure he's driven back to the main part of campus, I get out to pee.

And, sure enough, he comes driving up around the corner.

He comes out past what is know as the secret garden. (It's a secret garden because it's a garden, and it's surrounded on all four sides by a seven-foot tall brick wall.  I guess that's why it's a secret garden???  I always assumed that's just what you call a thing like that.  Probably has something to do with the British?  "Look at me everyone! I'm Brit-ish! I've got a brick woll an sum roses! I'm a blutty Union Jack-Off!")

So it's like the dude was waiting for me to get out of the Jeep.  I try my darnedest to stop peeing and close the door to the Jeep, but it's too late -- campus safety is upon me.  (I've been calling them security up to this point, but they're actually called campus safety now.  They had to go to verbal judo classes and everything.  Apparently, "verbal judo" is not what happens when you cut someone off then get caught at a light next to them. I looked up the exact translation of "judo" from Japanese to English, and I came up with "gentle way."  I think something gets lost in the translation.  If you don't believe me, just go to YouTube and search under "judo."  Then you'll see that there isn't much gentleness involved.)

So anyway -- ol' Rick asks me all these questions, and he seems really concerned.  He asks me why I'm sleeping in the back of my Jeep and if I have a place to live. Then he tells me that I can stay with him.  He's being a real sweetheart.

Now, I've been up for like twelve minutes at this point, mind you, and ten of those were spent in a sleeping bag with my eyes closed, waiting, so I'm not exactly at the top of my game.  I'm all like, sure sure sure, I have a place down in North Bennington on Church Street (real street); I'm just taking a little nap then I'm going to get back to work.  He asks if I'm working on a painting, and I tell him that I'm reading for my philosophy class, and the reason it's taking so long is because I have no idea what's going on.

This is all true, you know -- I am having a very difficult time.  I thought Jean Baudrillard, William S. Burroughs, and Guy Debord were tough reads for my Media Matrix class way back when, but this Rene Descartes is a real pain in the tookis. 

"I think, therefore I am. Or maybe it's I am, therefore I think.  Or maybe therefore I am, I think.  Or maybe therefore, I think I am.  Or maybe I perceive my judgments, which lead me to think I am.  Or maybe I think I am because I perceive that I think.  Or maybe my perception of being I am is based on the fact that I think.  Or maybe an evil demon is perceiving all this for me, for he thinks that I am. Or maybe my perceived notion of a just god and not a deceptive god is what leads me to judge that I am. Or maybe maybe maybe maybe blah bl-blah bl-blah bl-blah bl-blah.  Or maybe..."

Dude, shut the fuck up already!  Maybe you're bumming me out.  Maybe you shouldn't smoke so much weed.  Maybe you shouldn't eat ten-day old crepes for breakfast.

So I'm trying to explain the situation as best I can to Rick, but I'm not sure he's buying it.  I ask him how he saw me, with a big old fake confused smile on my face, trying to be all innocent and such, and he tells me he saw me poke up my head when he drove by. I'm pretty sure I didn't poke-up-a-my-head, but maybe I did.  I'm thinking he might have taken a peek in the car.  Maybe he suspected me when he saw me put the sleeping bag into the back.  Maybe I should have hidden and maybe none of this would have happened.

Maybe?

In the end he drives off, but he doesn't seem convinced.  But maybe I'm being paranoid.

So I go back to my studio, and I sit there and try to work. After a half-hour, I decide to head down to Commons and sleep on the third floor on my little sleeping mat. I'm mad careful not to be seen as I'm walking down to the main part of campus so I take this path that goes through some trees and past a pond and then comes up near the science building before connecting with the main road into the main part of campus.  On the other side of this road is Commons. (Kids get mail and eat meals here; there are also computers and a big screen TV.)

Then, as I'm about to cross the road, I see the headlights of the campus safety vehicle.  So of course I have to run back and jump in the bushes and lie on the ground until Rick has driven past. And of course I'm freaking out because I just know there are spiders crawling all over me.

Then I get up and go to bed. Not too stressful or anything.

I'll head back down to the third floor of Commons tonight, but to be honest, I think everything is fine.  Time will tell.

Till next time!

By the power of Grey Skull, I have the equanimity! Battle Cat! No, wait. How does it go?

Days four and five...

I'm still not outside yet.  I spent a couple of nights in the back of my Jeep; one night on a couch in the barn; one night on the couch in commons; and one night on the walkway around the main performance space in the Carriage Barn.

In case you're wondering what the hell is taking so long, I quit smoking eighteen days ago, and I've been suffering from bronchitis ever since.  It started in Detroit, and I kept thinking it would go away.  Well, it didn't get better, but it also didn't get worse.  It just stayed the same -- for what was starting to feel like forever.  Second day at Bennington, I went to the doctor for antibiotics, and now it's getting better fast.  But I don't want to sleep outside until my lungs are healthy.

The doc said that the nicotine I've taken in over the last 9 years has slowly caused a paralysis of the cilia, which clean the lungs by continually moving harmful material out of the lungs and into the throat.  Because I stopped smoking, the cilia are waking up and slowly coming back to life, and everything left in my lungs from the aforementioned 9 years is coming out.  Now that the lungs are working to clear out large amounts of doo-doo, the virus in my system is running a racket, since the cilia -- which are already inflamed from overwork -- can't keep up with the virus' reproduction.

Complicated!

Doc referred to the trash buildup in my lungs as a kind of repression; now that I've quit smoking, I've started internal therapy. Like when you go to a psychologist and start talking about things -- it fucks you up.  Only instead of crying, watching Star Trek, and eating flaming-hot Cheetos, you cough a lot and have trouble breathing.

In case you're wondering which brand of Star Trek I'm referring to, it's Generations. But Deep Space Nine and Voyager can work, too.  Even the original series will suffice when times are really bad.  You might even find yourself watching a Sci-Fi network special on the life of Gene Roddenberry.

So you see kids, the brain and the lungs are not as different as we think.  You can learn a lot from blogs!

So Hurricane Hannah has finally arrived in Vermont, and she's causing such minimal damage that it's hard to imagine that something like this could have been so utterly devastating had conditions allowed for it in the South.  It's like an average day in Ireland out there.  Not to be a smart-ass, but it really is crazy to think that what we're experiencing here in VT could have potentially killed hundreds or even thousands of people a few days ago.

Weather is weird!

It did prevent my friend Brian, who came up here to camp a few nights, from camping.  He only got one night in the Bennington woods -- that mug beat me to the punch.  But he's getting me tickets to a Mets game at Shea to make it up to me!!!  (He lives in NYC.)  I'm stoked!

He also sold me an iMac G4 laptop that I'm using in my studio right now -- Internet and everything up here.  I watched Ratatouille today because he'd left it on the computer.  Those PIXAR flicks get me every time!

MEANWHILE -- AT TONY PARKER'S HOUSE --

Tim Duncan: Hello, Manu. I've got some aaah JELLO pudding pops.  They're aaah um chocolate! Do-do you want some, Manu?

Manu Ginobili: You say CoCa, Timo?

TD: No, Manu. I said, I said um chocolate.

Tony Parker: Hey, Timmy, man, how come you came over with only JELLO pudding pops, man? I told you to bring coffee, cigarettes, and french fries, man.  Desperate Housewives, man! ABC! Sunday night! Eva Longoria, man! Ben Hall's favorite show, man!  Timmy, what up with that, man?

TD: Sorry, Tony. Sorry.

Days two and three...

So I haven't slept in a hammock yet, but I am getting there.  I'm taking the deep breath before the plunge.  I'm preparing for winter, if you will.

On the upside, I've gotten all of my classes and financial aid worked out.  I have my books; I have my studio all set up.  Clothes and toilet-trees and spare bicycle tubes are all in place.  I have my job lined up for the term -- I'm the new dinnertime Table Washer and Vacuum Manager.  I'm also in charge of the outside-only salt and pepper shakers; I guess they don't trust me with the ones on the inside of the dinning hall.

I've already been yelled at for getting someone a to-go cup from the cabinet under the coffee-makers and hot water dispensers.  There used to be to-go cups for all, but, as one of the managers explained, the members of last summer's MFA writing program would come in every night and like take five cups each (I guess they really liked tea), and they ruined it for everyone.

I was trying to help, and I assumed that the cups would be there, where I looked, and they were.  So I grabbed them -- to give one to the girl who had asked for it and to put a bunch out for the rest of the world. But the boss snatched the cups out of my hand and asked me what I was doing.  I tried to explain and was quickly interrupted: "We don't use these anymore!"  It had been thirteen months since anybody had told me what to do at my job (now that I'm the boss and all), and I almost started crying.

Not really but kinda.

It was like I was seventeen again and still working at the Taco Bell in Waterford, Michigan.  That job lasted about sixteen days. They fired me because I went to homecoming with Michelle Sese, who was a very nice Filipino girl.  No, they didn't fire me for going on a date with a Filipino -- what happened was that they hired me and the very next day gave me a schedule for the next two weeks.

I said, "Wait, I can't work next Friday. I'm going to my Senior homecoming with Michelle Sese."

They said, "You have to work."

Then I told them that I'd already rented a tux, and that my stepdad was letting me use his Ford Taurus (it had electric side-view mirrors), and what about my reservations at Mountain Jack's? They told me that if I didn't come to work, I would be fired.

I said, "No more."

I didn't show up, and they fired me.  Then I got kicked out of the house a few days later for smoking weed and being all together a pain in the ass.  I never got to say thank you to Michelle Sese, which to this day makes me feel a little sad to think about.

So anyway, getting yelled at isn't something that's happened in a minute.  But you know what I realized at that moment?  I shouldn't have assumed that it was okay to just grab those cups.  I own a business, and I should know better.  Always ask if you don't know, kids.

Speaking of kids, do you know what really bothers me?  When people use the term -- and it happens often in the restaurant -- "sippy-cup."  Sometimes adults say it to each other, even when there aren't any kids present.  Isn't it bad enough that a child has to grow up in this world?  Does he or she really need to use the term "sippy-cup" until they're 8-years old?

So other than that, my new job is going well.  It's supposed to take ninety minutes to do the wiping, shakering, and vacuuming, but my second night I did it in sixty.

I also have my FWT (Field Work Term) job all lined up for this winter. For those of you who aren't in the know, FWT is Bennington's third term, where students have the opportunity to explore their areas of interest through firsthand experience in the real world.  No, not the TV show!  The main difference between Bennington and other schools is that this internship is done four different times by each and every student over the course of his or her education.  (Sometimes they do three internships and an independent study.) Guess what my FWT job is?

Running a restaurant in Detroit!

My supervisor will be Ben Hall -- it says so on the application.  I hope he doesn't yell at me for giving to-go cups away.

Mama, put my guns in the ground. I can't shoot them anymore!

Day one...

So here I am. I got here too late and too tired to figure out the sleeping situation, but I took a very big first step. Once it was dark, I grabbed my little LED flashlight and wandered off into the dark scary woods. I went in about two hundred yards, and for the most part I wasn't sweating it. First time in my life that I've ever been in the woods alone at night. It was a lot like the Blair Witch Project, only in real life.

Everything was cool until, as I started to leave the woods, I heard quite a scramblin' nearby (Hans warned me about this). I checked it out but didn't see anything. I thought it might have been a deer (because it was obviously walking), but I'm no Eleanor Roosevelt -- I didn't know if it was a deer, a monkey, or a tostada out there!

Then I kinda saw it for a second, and it was gone, and I thought to myself, "God I hope that was a deer."

Then I heard it again, right next to me, so I shined the light in that direction, and there it was: a doe standing no more than four feet away from me.

I don't know if I was on slightly lower ground or if it was just small, perhaps born in the spring, but we stood eye to eye. All I could see were two big yellowish-green glowing eyes and two ears the size of catcher's mitts. We stared at each other for about five seconds. It gave me this look that said, "Who the hell are you, and where the fuck did you just come from, and what the hell-hole is that super-bright thing in your hand?" Once I got a grip on the awe of being so close to such an amazing creature, I realized just how terrified the poor little mug was; so I lowered the light and poof -- gone!

Also, and this is for those of you who live in the big city: STARZ!!! There are so many stars out here. You look up and there are thousands of them. In Detroit, on a clear night, there are like five stars. And as you stand there, looking up at those five stars, something eventually whizzes by your head, and you realize it was only four stars -- the fifth one was a falling bullet.

I'm going to share this next one with all of you, but it's really mostly for Cory Stauffer.

Canfield -- corner room facing Commons and the End of the World. So I show up tonight around six, and there's a dude playing guitar in that room. When I leave five hours later, he's still playing guitar. Same room as way back when, but it's a different dude! I checked it out! Haven't heard "Sweet Child o' Mine" -- YET!!!

For those of you who have no idea what this means:

There's one totally quiet house on campus, and it sits next to one of the loudest houses on campus. The whole time Mr. Stauffer was at Bennington, living in the quiet house, there was this guy who would play Guns N' Roses and Led Zeppelin for what seemed like sixteen hours a day. Mr. Stauffer did not like this. Mr. Stauffer likes the sound of falling snow and one hand clapping. "Kashmir" -- not so much. And I know what you're thinking; you're thinking you kinda like that song. Imagine having to listen to just the guitar part for six hours.

Oscar Mike!

Hello World,

This is the first post for my last year in Bennington.

For those of you who don't know what's about to happen, I'll tell you. I'm going back to Bennington College for my final year, and I'm doing so without an official place to live.

Did you know that it's always "an" in front of a vowel and "a" in front of a consonant? i.e. an Onion Roll or a Kaiser Roll. I just learned that. I mean, I guess I kinda knew it, but I also kinda didn't.

So I'm going to live in a tent in the woods the whole time I'm at Bennington. I know it sounds crazy, but what this experiment presupposes is: maybe it isn't? I'll sleep in a four season camping hammock I just purchased. I'll set it up each afternoon and take it down each morning. I'm going to shower and get pretty in one of the houses on campus, and I'm going to store my clothes in my painting studio. I'll probably get a campus lunch plan so I have access to food in the afternoon, and I'm contemplating working at the dining hall for one hour each day, around dinnertime, for dinner. I'll eat breakfast in my painting studio each morning when I wake up at 4 a.m. We'll see how that waking up early thing goes.

I know what you're thinking -- "You're gonna freeze!!!"

Actually, I won't. I'm all geared up for winter camping, and if it gets too cold, I'll find a place to sleep on campus somewhere. For those of you who have never been to Bennington, I assure you -- it's easy finding a place to sleep inside one of the buildings.

The idea behind all of this is to save up enough money to buy a house when I get back to Detroit. Also, I'm in a position to partially take myself off the grid for a little while so I'm doing just that. Also, I'm interested in testing my stamina and endurance. I know there are other ways to test these things, but I chose this one.

I'm Oscar Mike from Detroit to Bennington in about sixteen hours!

I'm very excited to be sharing this experience with you guys, and I'm looking forward to getting any feedback y'all might have.

More soon,

Jason!