Happy Novembre, compadres! Hope you all have had a lovely Limbo Month. Actually November isn't that bad, for a "why can't we just skip this and get to the good part"-month. February is the worst, in my opinion; though March can be pretty awful too, it's at least exciting with all that deadly black ice and windstorm activity. Unlike these months, November has two events I'm actually excited for: Thanksgiving, and Opening Day of deer season.
(Wikipedia)
Yessireebob, it's Toikey Time/Watching the Lions Lose (sorry)/Annoying Relatives Roulette Month. Drag the deep-fryer out onto the deck, stock up on peanut oil and fire extinguishers, and prepare to baptize your favorite mutant Meleagris gallopavo in twenty gallons of boiling nut-fat. When the deep-fryer knocks over and burns the deck to a cinder, order pizza. After the impromptu faux-Italian feast, commence the making of nachos, to be consumed with brewed alcoholic beverage of your choice in front of the television. Get in a fight with your relatives. Fall asleep, even though you didn't actually consume turkey. And take a moment out of this busy time to be thankful.
(ibid.)
I'm getting ready to head up north to Grayling for another, niche holiday known as Opening Day, still celebrated by hunters all across the Midwest with a mad dash for the Great Brown North (unless there's snow again this year). As you may know, a vacation taken for the purpose of deer hunting is known as "Deer Camp", traditionally performed at a ramshackle cabin with a group of buddies, the group carrying its own set of traditions to ensure a successful hunt. I'll be heading up with my dad to his property, "Camp Hardtoogettoo," and while we'll be staying off-site in a camper at Hartwick Pines, it still technically qualifies as Deer Camp (right?)
Regardless of your particular Deer Camp faith tradition, there are certain universally-observed elements. Beer is the preferred libation in the rituals of this festival, accompanied by pickled baloney, whose festive scent and delicate flavor are soon transformed into the rancid, cabin-eating farts which can only be countered by clouds of cigar smoke - incense to the Gods of the Woods. Euchre is also a traditional staple, however my nuclear family were never card-players, and I inherited a general lack of enthusiasm for hesitantly placing a patterned piece of cardboard on a table, and then getting yelled at (this constituted every game I ever played). Our entertainment consists of chopping wood, then burning said wood, and then chopping some more wood. Sometimes we shoot bullets at trees. We're kinda low-key like that.
But of course, the most important ritual of Opening Day, the reason we're all truly out there, is Sitting In the Woods With a Gun and Freezing. Or, in my devotional variant: Falling Asleep With a Gun in the Woods and Waking Up Frozen. I get to appreciate the beauty of nature from behind my eyelids, then the numbing sensation as all my blood and heat retreat to the center of my body, then the wonderful manufacturing quality-control of Ice Age Handwarmers, Inc. as their "7 hours of warmth!"-producing product grudgingly puts out a couple BTU's for an hour, and then stops working altogether.
Do deer show up? In spirit. In body, they're staying home where it's warm. I'm the dummy out in the freezing rain or snow or whatever. Now a couple years ago we got lucky - there was a weird warm front that weekend, and the temperature hovered around 50 degrees and drizzling; I remember seeing one deer after another, like a conveyor belt. Finally got a nice button-buck. Delicious. Anyway, the following year it was snowing like gangbusters and mighty cold, lots of wind. I put in my hours over the three days we were up there, but nothing doing. So we're back up again this year, hopefully with better luck; opening day is looking to be gorgeous, if weather.com is to be believed (the frauds). I'll be heading up tomorrow, which'll be mixed precipitation and strongish winds; but we're usually setting up the first day anyway, so no huge loss. We'll start with the bow, and by Sunday it'll be rifle time. If I had my druthers, I'd get a couple nice, smallish deer, which are the tenderest and tastiest. On the other hand, I would like a set of antlers for my wall. Bucks tend to be tougher, though, and like the man said, "You can't eat antlers". So there's the dilemma. Probably I'll just take whatever deer I can, and hopefully it'll be tasty as that first one was.
(Chart by Nadia van der Donk, www.nadiavanderdonk.blogspot.com)
I'll have a loaner bow (my own bow is in Gander Mountain purgatory, I doubt I'll ever see it again...) so we'll see how I do with it; this is my first time bowhunting. On Sunday, I'll switch to my trusty .300 Savage. My grandfather owned that rifle, as well as a nice little .22 pistol he passed down to me; I'm glad I get to carry on the tradition.
So that's my vacation: five days up north. I feel like it's been long overdue.
Oh yeah, comics...on the comics front, Bone Boy 2.5 is ready for proofing; Die Katze is going to have to wait until I can work out a few kink. With luck, both will be ready by mid-December. After that I'm focusing on The Human Cannonball trade paperback, then #6; we'll see when each is ready, probably by next year. I'll keep you posted on the details.
Rick Out.
(Wikipedia)
Yessireebob, it's Toikey Time/Watching the Lions Lose (sorry)/Annoying Relatives Roulette Month. Drag the deep-fryer out onto the deck, stock up on peanut oil and fire extinguishers, and prepare to baptize your favorite mutant Meleagris gallopavo in twenty gallons of boiling nut-fat. When the deep-fryer knocks over and burns the deck to a cinder, order pizza. After the impromptu faux-Italian feast, commence the making of nachos, to be consumed with brewed alcoholic beverage of your choice in front of the television. Get in a fight with your relatives. Fall asleep, even though you didn't actually consume turkey. And take a moment out of this busy time to be thankful.
(ibid.)
I'm getting ready to head up north to Grayling for another, niche holiday known as Opening Day, still celebrated by hunters all across the Midwest with a mad dash for the Great Brown North (unless there's snow again this year). As you may know, a vacation taken for the purpose of deer hunting is known as "Deer Camp", traditionally performed at a ramshackle cabin with a group of buddies, the group carrying its own set of traditions to ensure a successful hunt. I'll be heading up with my dad to his property, "Camp Hardtoogettoo," and while we'll be staying off-site in a camper at Hartwick Pines, it still technically qualifies as Deer Camp (right?)
Regardless of your particular Deer Camp faith tradition, there are certain universally-observed elements. Beer is the preferred libation in the rituals of this festival, accompanied by pickled baloney, whose festive scent and delicate flavor are soon transformed into the rancid, cabin-eating farts which can only be countered by clouds of cigar smoke - incense to the Gods of the Woods. Euchre is also a traditional staple, however my nuclear family were never card-players, and I inherited a general lack of enthusiasm for hesitantly placing a patterned piece of cardboard on a table, and then getting yelled at (this constituted every game I ever played). Our entertainment consists of chopping wood, then burning said wood, and then chopping some more wood. Sometimes we shoot bullets at trees. We're kinda low-key like that.
But of course, the most important ritual of Opening Day, the reason we're all truly out there, is Sitting In the Woods With a Gun and Freezing. Or, in my devotional variant: Falling Asleep With a Gun in the Woods and Waking Up Frozen. I get to appreciate the beauty of nature from behind my eyelids, then the numbing sensation as all my blood and heat retreat to the center of my body, then the wonderful manufacturing quality-control of Ice Age Handwarmers, Inc. as their "7 hours of warmth!"-producing product grudgingly puts out a couple BTU's for an hour, and then stops working altogether.
Do deer show up? In spirit. In body, they're staying home where it's warm. I'm the dummy out in the freezing rain or snow or whatever. Now a couple years ago we got lucky - there was a weird warm front that weekend, and the temperature hovered around 50 degrees and drizzling; I remember seeing one deer after another, like a conveyor belt. Finally got a nice button-buck. Delicious. Anyway, the following year it was snowing like gangbusters and mighty cold, lots of wind. I put in my hours over the three days we were up there, but nothing doing. So we're back up again this year, hopefully with better luck; opening day is looking to be gorgeous, if weather.com is to be believed (the frauds). I'll be heading up tomorrow, which'll be mixed precipitation and strongish winds; but we're usually setting up the first day anyway, so no huge loss. We'll start with the bow, and by Sunday it'll be rifle time. If I had my druthers, I'd get a couple nice, smallish deer, which are the tenderest and tastiest. On the other hand, I would like a set of antlers for my wall. Bucks tend to be tougher, though, and like the man said, "You can't eat antlers". So there's the dilemma. Probably I'll just take whatever deer I can, and hopefully it'll be tasty as that first one was.
(Chart by Nadia van der Donk, www.nadiavanderdonk.blogspot.com)
I'll have a loaner bow (my own bow is in Gander Mountain purgatory, I doubt I'll ever see it again...) so we'll see how I do with it; this is my first time bowhunting. On Sunday, I'll switch to my trusty .300 Savage. My grandfather owned that rifle, as well as a nice little .22 pistol he passed down to me; I'm glad I get to carry on the tradition.
So that's my vacation: five days up north. I feel like it's been long overdue.
Oh yeah, comics...on the comics front, Bone Boy 2.5 is ready for proofing; Die Katze is going to have to wait until I can work out a few kink. With luck, both will be ready by mid-December. After that I'm focusing on The Human Cannonball trade paperback, then #6; we'll see when each is ready, probably by next year. I'll keep you posted on the details.
Rick Out.
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