Jessica and John, tied at 14lbs. If they can email me, I’ll figure out something nice to give them. Maybe a pat on the back, my throwing stick. Perhaps even an honorary tomato, I don’t know.
They’re still a bit short though. The final tally was actually 19 lbs. I guess living like a refugee for a week will do that to you.
More than a few people have mentioned that they should go on a crash diet like this. If you can eat mussels once a day for 5 days and then have an onion and a tomato be my guest.
Its still better than being this guy, who I’ve been said to have a passing resemblence to:
So I’ve been reading a few survival guides since the end of my fiasco to learn what I did right and wrong. While I did do a surprising number of things right, the obvious number of things wrong is far more interesting, and amusing. Consider this number one in a long series.
Today’s lesson focuses on the fine art of seagull hunting. If anyone has a good memory, I had previosly discussed my theory on how to catch a seagull with my grandfather, which can be summed up in the following quote, “I figure if I can lure one close enough, I can throw a crab net over it and then wring its neck.” Seemed logical to both of us at the time, and it still does now.
The true way to do it however is wayyyyyyy cooler.
In the “SAS Survival Handbook” the author gives a detailed despcription on how to catch flying sea rats:
Seagulls can be caught by wrapping food around a stone and throwing it in the air. The gull swallows the bait while still on the wing, gulping down the stone with it, and the change in weight causes the bird to crash. Obviously this is a technique for use over land rather than at sea. Be ready to dispatch the bird as soon as it hits the ground.
Now when I had originally thought about taking down a gull, I naturally wanted to try the old Alka Seltzer trick. Sadly, that was debunked as a myth. Turns out the half assed method I concocted isn’t even that ridiculous when compared to the truth. To be honest I’m a bit disappointed.
It’s just too bad I don’t have a 101 fastball, otherwise I would have been eating bird all week:
To begin the day, I want to give thanks to a few people:
My parents for not kicking me off their property, it would have really put a damper on things.
The gardener for not calling the cops.
My girlfriend for being patient and not dumping me, though many people are still wondering why
My friend Jacob who helped (did) the technical side of things. Without him there would be no Hungry Barbarian, so that makes him Barbarian Light.
The neighbors for their don’t ask don’t tell policy.
Everyone who actually found this interesting. I’m amazed anyone outside of my immediate family gave a crap. I know they only checked to make sure I wasn’t dead. Dying they could deal but dead, not so much.
And finally to Manbearpig for being so awesome. I’m super cereal!
While its a beautiful day out, needless to say I haven’t left the house much. I have a sun rash which needs some time to clear up, and along with the dizziness its best I properly give my body time to heal. I’ve spent more than enough time outside this week and I think a day off on the couch being pampered is duly needed. Besides for the first time in a week I smell somewhat decent and I don’t want to ruin that.
While it was a tough go, the first meal of the day, the egg sandwich, did stay down. There were some intestinal effects, as others predicted, but it was well well worth it. If not the best breakfast I’ve ever had, though it was damn good, it was definitely the most cherished.
More importantly though for the first time in a week I had three square meals, drank something other than water, and haven’t thought of mussels in hours. There was a time (yesterday) when they were haunting my dreams.
I’m taking the rest of the night off, to try and get the soot out of my hands, but I’ll be back up and running tomorrow. There is a lot of stuff to tie up, like my thoughts on some of the comments that came in. Oh, I definitely have a few favorites, so prepare to be mocked.
So until then, enjoy your bed, because I know I’ll be enjoying mine.
Yup that’ a spider crab. My grandfather was under the impression that they wouldn’t taste good, but I decided to try it anyway; after the conch incident I didn’t know what to believe. I actually enjoyed it quite a bit. Still its repulsive to look at…..like your face!!! Ohhhh!!!
I’ve been waiting a long time for this. A week actually, but it has felt like decades. To be honest, I don’t believe it. I don’t trust my eyes or even my brain at this point.
Maybe I just don’t want to leave my tent. Its been everything to me this past week: my bed, library, garage and storehouse. My home. Can I just up and leave that loyalty behind?
Second guessing at this point will condemn me to purgatory and more likely a lifetime of mussels. Perhaps a pep talk is in order:
Yes freedom damnit. For the first time in a week, I’ve entered the house.
So its onward to the only destination I care about, the fridge:
Oh the lights are so bright. Am I at the Pearly Gates? St. Peter, is that you?
Yup, no doubt about it, I am.
Instead of splitting up all the various parts of a meal I decied to have them all at once, in the greatest breakfast technology ever created: the egg sandwich. Sausage, egg, cheese, bread and ketchup:
Perfection on a bun cooked by my mother’s hand. Delish. She may have saved my life, or my mind at the very least. I’m amazed I even have the willpower to stop and take a picture midway
Oh and don’t worry I made sure to sample some (all) of the other treats hiding out as well. Like eggplant. God bless eggplant. I’m like a little kid let loose inside a Toys R Us with mom’s Amex.
Next on the agenda is to get clean. A week’s worth of ash, dirt and other generally unpleasant residue cannot be easy to wash off. I’m thinking a brillo pad and a baptismal font might be needed.
Brushing my teeth two, maybe three times is also a good idea, and will hopefully get the rancid taste of mussels out of my mouth. If not, I think my mom has a power-washer laying around that might do the trick.
Clean clothes! God they smell good, and not even stained. Is that a bed? I just blacked out.
Ultimately though, its off to the airport to pick up my girlfriend. While some time out in the Hamptons is a vacation for most people, I think she’ll be playing nurse for the next few days. Oh she’s going to looooooove this.
Before I head out to get her though, a conversation I had with my father yesterday comes to mind. He was wondering if I would find the end of this little adventure anticlimactic. Would I be disappointed when it was over?
Not a chance in hell.
Obviously I want the self-inflicted pain to end, but it goes deeper than that. I see the end of this as being the finish to a good story. There was lead-up, plot and subplots, drama, humor, irony, villainy (damn dog), adventure, heartbreak, a climax and finally a satisfying conclusion. Sure we all want that good story to go on forever, but would it be our favorite tale if it just dragged on? Not according to Johnny Carson and he was a far greater man than I.
I’m ok with leaving this tale where it is now, but don’t worry I won’t leave you hanging. As I mentioned before, to every good story there’s always an epilogue.
For now however, I understand my place in the universe and leave you on this note:
Its 3 am. Needless to say I can’t sleep. I survived the night, though it was a bit of a battle. That was a monster storm to sit through:
And that’s before the wind hit. Had to do some equipment repositioning to secure the corners for that as the tent almost flipped over. Mother Nature did indeed get the last laugh.
But now? Dead silence. Except for the crickets of course.
So with thunder in the background and the clatter of knives on plates nearby, I’ve decided its time for bed. There’s only 12 hours left of this madness.
It’s likely going to be a rough last night which has led to an ironic finish; I had to lend my spare flashlights to my family because the power is threatening to go off. As they said, “Its going to be a rough night for the Barbarian.”
Apparently taking my dinner wasn’t enough; Mother Nature is trying to intimidate me right to the very end.
That’s ok though. I’ve been though it all before, and besides, I have an 8 am wake-up call tomorrow that I don’t want to miss it by a second.
I really don’t have much to say, this has been a mind numbing day at best. Hearing my sister pray for good weather so she can jump in the water is great (she doesn’t get many days off from work), but that only occupies the mind so much; I just want this to be over. I’m trying to do whatever I can to pass the time, but no matter what my mind wanders back to the agonizingly close finish line. Is this how a marathon runner feels? I’ll never know because I’ll never be doing that. Its just stupid.
See, I know irony.
Even on this last day though Nature has the last laugh. Despite the mist, clouds and rain, I planned on an easy straightforward day, so I made enough food this morning for both breakfast and dinner. My day should have been set.
After finishing the first half, I covered the pot and set it on the table safe and sound. I would be set for tonight and go to bed full.
Laying down for a nap, I thought all was right in my world, but a loud clatter proclaimed otherwise.
This is the scene I came upon:
Who could the culprit be?
I was torn between murdering my dog, murdering then eating my dog, or murdering my dog and then braising it along with the tomatoes, onions and garlic to make a fine stew. Tough options. The latter two in particular were high on my list as they fit the theme of this week. Plus I’m hungry.
In a fit of benevolence however I decided upon a third course: the dog would live.
Instead I’m going to go hungry this last night in order to honor Nature, this entire adventure but most importantly, irony. Without it, I wouldn’t be laughing (or crying).
