www.BrettDaniel.com

This is the third in a series of posts about last weekend's trip to Chain O' Lakes State Park.

Part Three: That Which Made It All Worthwhile

Back when I was first deciding on where to go camping, I knew I wanted someplace with boats— preferably those of the small, rentable variety. Also, I knew it needed to have someplace upon which to float these boats— like a lake, perhaps. It didn't take much research before I came across the perfect candidate: Chain 'O Lakes State Park. As the name suggests, this park has not just one lake, but a series of lakes each connected to one another by narrow channels.

"Eureka!" I said to myself, "Surely this park will quench my canoeing desire."

However as it turns out, the trip accomplished just the opposite. I enjoyed canoeing on the chain o' lakes so much that I now want to go canoeing again for an even longer time. As it was, the four of us only spent about four hours out on the water. I'm sure that we could have spent at least a day or two paddling from one end of the chain to the other.

We began our four hours not long after the morning's pancake fiasco. Fearing the small breakfast would catch up to us in the middle of the lake, we brought along a gigantic bag of trail mix and some granola bars. Renting two canoes proved surprisingly easy, and we shoved off right around 11. I immediately forgot about all the trouble with missing people and uncooperative cooking equipment. Surrounded by thick forest and lined with lush water plants, all the lakes we managed to visit seemed plucked from the untamed Northwest Territory. Leaving the canoe landing, we headed west toward where we expected to find an entrance into one of the connecting channels. We discovered the inlet hidden among the water plants and entered an amazing tree-lined tunnel straight out of Tolkein. It was as if the Anduin was a fifteen-foot-wide channel flowing through northeastern Indiana.

We had been paddling for maybe five minutes down this waterway when we came across a young, wet boy dressed in swim trunks shivering on the bank.

"Have you seen a canoe with two fat guys in it? One of them's wearing a black shirt?" he asked as we passed.

"Sorry. I'm afraid we haven't," I replied.

"Well if you do, tell them I'm sorry."

We chuckled a bit at the poor boy's plight and continued on our way.

Several minutes later, the channel opened up into the second link in the chain o' lakes. Here, thick water plants and duckweed lined the banks, almost choking the waterway at one point. We continued paddling, admiring the beauty to either side of us, and crossed over into the third lake on our expedition. By then, our small breakfast had caught up to us, so we drifted for a time while we ate our provisions. Satiated for the moment, we continued on to the end of the lake, passed through another small channel (this one was completely choked in duckweed), and arrived at a canoe landing near the end of the western branch of the chain that we had been following. There we rested for a time before turning around and returning to the lake where we had first set off.

None of us was ready to quit yet, so we continued on the eastern branch of the chain through another beautiful, long channel. We only went one lake deep on this branch, and decided to just drift around before heading back once again. We returned to the boat launch just over four hours after we had first set off.

On the drive back to the campsite, I would imagine all of us were thinking the same thing: that made the entire trip worth taking.

To be continued sometime this weekend with Part Four: Do You Feel Moist?

A cartoon to illustrate Tuesday's post.

This is the second in a series of posts about last weekend's camping trip to Chain O' Lakes State Park.

Part Two: Pancakes of Death

As any camping veteran will tell you, when it comes to food, simplicity is key. Hot dogs, hamburgers, marshmallows, and MREs tend to work well. However pancakes— especially pancakes cooked on a nonnonstick cast iron griddle with a plastic spatula— tend not to. At best, they turn into crumpled blobs of dough charred black on the outside. At worst they remain on the griddle to this day.

But O how we tried. We awoke early on Saturday morning (as one always does when camping) and set about making our breakfast. Originally expecting six people, we had bought two boxes of just-add-water pancake mix. Because we ended up with only four people, we decided to only make one box. I tore open the packages, added what I thought was the correct amount of water, and began stirring.

"Hmm... It seems awfully watery," Eric noticed.
"yeeeahhh... It does. One and half cups times four packages. Six cups, right?"
Eric looked at the box. "It's a cup and a half for two packages. We only needed three cups."

I pondered.

Of course Eric's observation was correct, and I am still amazed that I made such and idiotic oversight.

I pondered some more.

"You're right. Well. Let's try it anyway," I said.

I poured a ladleful of the watery batter onto the hot griddle. It immediately spread across the griddle surface and began boiling away. By the time I could grab the spatula, the "pancake" was a smoking paper thin puddle full of holes. I tried my best to scrape it away, but only succeeded in spreading the uncooked portion around some more. After about five minutes of scraping, I managed to get the bulk of the charred batter off of the griddle and into the trash bag.

I looked at Eric. "It looks like we need to make the other box after all."

It seems obvious now, but at the time, neither of us thought to add the second box of pancake mix to the watered down batch we had already made. Instead, we poured the old batch into the fire pit and mixed a completely new one using the correct three cups of water. That done, we attempted to make our second pancake. At first, it appeared successful. As my mother taught me years ago, I waited for the edges to turn dull before attempting to turn the pancake over. It didn't work; the pancake was sticking to the griddle like duct tape. I managed to scrape it up, but by then it had turned into a charcoal-colored cylinder surrounding a core of uncooked batter. Into the trash it went. I doused the griddle with PAM and tried again. As before, starving wolverines wouldn't have touched the blackened pancake that resulted.

By then, I was beginning to realize that the griddle simply wouldn't work. Not to be defeated so easily, I decided to ask our neighbors in the next campsite if we could borrow some kind of nonstick pan. Unfortunately, they didn't have anything coated in Teflon, but they did have a seasoned cast iron skillet. Thinking it couldn't be any worse than our nonseasoned cast iron griddle, I thanked them profusely and decided to give it a try.

Even with a liberal amount of PAM, the new pan didn't seem to make that much of a difference. The pancakes still stuck if only to a slightly lesser extent. I tried making about three more pancakes before I noticed that the edges of the plastic spatula were beginning to melt. That explained why the pancakes were always charred on the outside; the pan was too hot. I tried turning down the gas to the camp stove I was using, but because I couldn't change the actual temperature of the flame, it didn't make any difference.

One or two failed tries later I realized then that the pancake idea was a bust. Michael had just woken up by then, so I gave the spatula to him and Eric so they could try their hand at cooking. Meanwhile, Tasha and I ate the doughnuts and bagels that we had bought for Doug and Jason's Sunday breakfast.

Bagels and doughnuts: it doesn't get much simpler than that.

To be continued tomorrow with Part Three: That Which Made It All Worthwhile.

Author's note: This is the first in a series of entries about last weekend's camping trip to Chain O' Lakes State Park.

Part One: Jason Strikes... Twice

With any organized occasion, one can usually expect that 30-60% of those invited will fail to come. This was one of the reasons I started planning the trip three weeks in advance; I wanted to give people a chance to clear their schedules as well as leave some time open to recruit replacements if they couldn't. At first, this plan seemed to work. When Eric's girlfriend Mel found out that she had a summer school final the Friday of the trip, I still had a chance to invite Doug to fill her spot. Things continued as expected from there up until the Tuesday three days before the trip was set to begin.

I IMed Jason that evening to converse a bit and confirm the plans I had set up through the handful of emails I had sent out to all the campers.

“uhh… I don’t think I can go,” he typed.
“Jason… I already made the reservations at the park,” I tactfully replied, slightly perturbed.
“well, I’m getting a car.”

And so it was. Jason, despite three weeks notice and numerous reminders, had decided to back out of the trip a mere three days before it began.

Uncool, to say the least.

The next day, the rest of us, save Doug, met at the grocery store to buy food for the trip. There, I told everyone the news. If you thought we were surprised that Jason wasn’t going, well… then you don’t know Jason. Even with his absence, we felt the trip would still work out well. Five people rather than six simply meant that we’d have a little bit more room in one of the three tents.

Two days later, we were ready to depart. Michael would pick up Tasha in his cavernous Buick, and I would pick up Eric and Doug in my Dad’s SUV. From there, the two drivers would meet in a parking lot near the highway and begin the trip.

That was the plan, at least.

I picked up Eric without any problem, but when we arrived at Doug’s house, he was nowhere to be found. We rang the doorbell a few dozen times; we called his phone; we even called Michael’s cell phone to see if Doug had driven over to the parking lot for some reason. No luck. Finally, we decided to try the doorknob on the front door. To our surprise, it opened, and I quickly searched the dark house. Again, no Doug. Needless to say, it was a little spooky to find an open, empty house when I knew Doug should have been expecting us.

By then, Eric and I had been waiting for about 45 minutes, so we decided to head over to the parking lot to meet Michael and Tasha. The four of us discussed the situation and decided some sort of emergency had befallen Doug. Because there was no way we could find out for sure, and because we were already an hour later than expected, we decided to begin the trip without him.

“What could have happened to Doug?” we asked ourselves. “Was it a family crisis? A UFO abduction?”

Jason?

Ah yes. You see, I got a call on my cell phone about an hour down the road. It was Doug apologizing for being late and wondering where we were. He told us that he had taken a ride in Jason’s new car—the very car that had superceded a camping weekend—and that it had broken down leaving both him and Jason stranded on a deserted country road. Relieved that nothing bad had happened, I told him we had already left and that he could still drive up himself. He declined, and the remaining four campers, Michael, Tasha, Eric, and myself, arrived at the park around 10:30 and began our camping weekend.

To be continued tomorrow with Part Two: Pancakes of Death

This weekend, Michael, Tasha, Eric, Doug, and I (and perhaps a sixth person, but that's a long story) are going on a much-needed camping trip to Chain O' Lakes State Park in northeastern Indiana. I say "much-needed" for two reasons: First, Michael, Eric, and I have spent our entire summer in cubicles steadily doing our internly business. After two months of flourescent lights and computer screens, I'm certainly long overdue for some time outdoors. Second, none of us have taken a real trip this summer save a quick two to visit nearby friends. These short trips were enjoyable, but it'll be nice to go somewhere to actually do something.

I've wanted to take a trip like this since early summer, but I only started organizing this one about three weeks ago. We plan to leave Friday evening; canoe and relax all day Saturday; and head back Sunday morning. Beyond that, we'll probably just do as we please as the inspiration strikes us. Eric, for one, hopes to go "feeshin", and I seem to remember Tasha mentioning a beach.

With only tomorrow left to prepare, I don't expect to post again until we get back.

Wish us luck.

If Jeremy is the closest thing to a roots blues man you're likely to find in central Indiana, then Eric is the closest thing to a computer scientist you're likely to find in Purdue's School of Chemical Engineering. After we went lifting this evening, I spent over an hour talking to him about the PHP program I use to update this weblog, MD5 hashing, PHP's regular expressions, tree traversal, and finally the scripting language I've been developing at work. All this from him wanting to borrow one of my PHP reference books...

Jeremy is probably the closest thing to a roots blues man you're likely to find in central Indiana. He came over yesterday afternoon for a second recording session, and to my surprise, banged out three songs in as many hours. With his permission, I posted two of the songs over in the music section.

I attribute yesterday's unusual speed to the different ways the two of us record music. I have always recorded in four to eight measure spurts alongside rigid MIDI backup tracks. This makes it easier to modify and mix songs electronically, but it also promotes a time consuming stop-and-go method of playing. Also, I regularly spend 25 takes or more on each short section of track, which, once I get one I like, I copy as many times as needed. Jeremy is the exact opposite. It always amazes me that he can record an entire song-length track without any kind of backup; know exactly how many measures he needs; keep incredibly solid time; play well throughout the song; and do it all in less than three takes.

Now this method of recording does have its downside: it makes it nearly impossible to go back and seamlessly modify a track. When listening to the recordings, you'll probably notice a few places where I made some recording mistakes that I couln't go back and fix by splicing in a better section. The best I could do was play with levels and tweak the EQ, though as I mentioned in the last post, I'll be the first to admit I'm still learning in both respects.

Despite these minor difficulties, I feel the songs came out okay and give a good impression of Jeremy's impressive Blues talent. It was a learning experience for both of us, and I enjoyed helping him out.

For a while there I was getting pretty good at posting regularly. Unfortunately, though, I seem to have gotten lax in the past week. That's the danger of keeping a weblog about one's life: when precious little happens, there is precious little to write about. Work has taken up most of my time as usual, but I?ve also found time to play around with a few other fun projects. Unfortunately, none of them have reached fruition yet. That's the thing about my creations; when I don't finish them in one go, I tend to sporadically add little bits over time. My song Orange, for example, sat dormant in my Recordings file for about a month before I added the finishing touches.

Right now, I have three little projects stewing in the back of my mind. The first is a vectorization of this old drawing that, like the original, didn't have any legs. I started the vectorization during the first semester last year but stopped at the waist during an especially arduous week of homework. Yesterday he finally got some legs, but feet, on the other hand, are still giving me some trouble. Back to the folder he goes, I guess.

I'm even worse at this type of thing when it comes to music. My second project is a new song that would be really cool if I could only think of a transition melody or three. This is a common problem; I have probably a half dozen decent minute-long songs that I can't seem to fill out with a good chorus. Nevertheless, I like this latest endeavor quite a bit and I hope to finish it off eventually.

Finally, my third project exists only in my head at the moment. For months I have been meaning to add to my stagnating and unforgivably sparse writings page. One would think that with all the writing I do on this weblog I would have no problem pulling together an entertaining short story, but alas, no such luck. Like my music, I have a half dozen false starts with as many ideas yet to try. My latest story idea came to me in bed while I was trying to fall asleep. I used to get musical insights this way, but it seems my subconscious has decided to switch disciplines.

I think this post accurately describes my summer so far: mild-mannered software development intern by day; wannabe artist, musician, and writer by night.

I get perturbed every time I think back to recording the charity CD senior year. I had a mid-range soundcard on a mid-range computer and I didn't have any significant amount of experience recording anything but myself. This rudimentary equipment and inexperience definitely showed in the final product, and I always cringe when I think about how much better it could have been. Since that time, I've acquired some better equipment and significantly improved my ability to use it. Nonetheless, I will be the first to admit I am still learning when it comes to recording others. Of course, one improves by practicing, so today I was happy to record a song for Jeremy who was steadily writing blues tunes while was away at college.

Most of the tracks came together without much trouble. Thanks to the better equipment I mentioned, we were able to overdub several acoustic guitar tracks, a bass line, and vocals in a rather short time. We hit our first real snag while trying to record the overdriven guitar. Understandably, Jeremy wanted to get his familiar bluesy tone from his amplifier, but we couldn't seem to get rid of a horrendous ground loop buzz. We tried plugging into his amp's line out plug; we tried miking it: we even tried putting the amp in the closet?all to no avail. In the end we had to sacrifice a bit of tone by going through my amp like the other guitar tracks. With that problem solved, we wrapped up the rest of the song in another two or three takes.

As expected, the afternoon was as much a learning experience for me as a recording session for Jeremy. I got to see how my recording setup worked with another person's equipment while Jeremy got to hear what his music sounded like with multiple layered tracks. We're planning to record again next Sunday, and I expect it will go as well as or better than today's session. Perhaps I'll figure out how to get rid of that buzzing.

In the mood for a hokey movie that could have been really, really cool had been done well? Then go see The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. I saw it tonight with Michael, Tasha, Stuart, and Doug, and unfortunately, all of us left somewhat disappointed. It is truly a pity that it didn?t live up to its undeniable potential.

Those readers of the geekish persuasion may have had a good laugh while reading this post about the scripting language I've been developing at work. "Why is he using regular expressions," they probably chortled to themselves, "when he could accomplish the same thing by parsing out the script into a tree structure and evaluating it recursively? It would be easier to modify, a lot more scalable, less prone to unexpected bugs, and far more elegant!"

Well, my dear geeky readers, because I'm still working more or less on an experimental, proof-of-concept basis, I was able to accomplish just that over the past few days. By doing so, I've given the language room to expand from the five initial functions I mentioned to dozens and possibly more. This was the plan from the beginning, but a tree structure handles it in a far better manner than was required with regular expressions. Instead of having the language processor go out and search for functions to evaluate (an expensive process, to be sure), "function nodes" and the related "operator nodes" call backend functions only when encountered in the final script evaluation. The process is nearly the same when the evaluation encounters "data nodes" which simply return a value. In this case, a nodal structure provides another benefit: all the data is represented internally. This means the language processor doesn't have to parse values out of a string every time it needs them.

These and other benefits all add up to far more efficient script evaluation. Just a handful of initial tests indicate that this new implementation runs at least twice as fast as the old version. While I haven't yet reached a point where I can test it heavily, I expect it will fare even better with more complex scripts.

It's from doing stuff like this that makes me enjoy being in computer science. By the end of the summer, I will have written a scripting language. How cool is that?

To be honest, I could do without incessant rain for three days straight. When the weather sees fit to loose these summer storms upon my family, it invariably causes our house septic system to start acting flaky. This in turn forces us to take 5-second showers and avoid flushing toilets too much, which, as you can probably imagine, gets old rather quickly.

... continued from yesterday

After the call at the end of the previous episode, the main character decides to go lifting at the local YMCA. As he walks in, he notices the show's requisite romantic couple, Michael and Tasha, at one of the benches. The three of them talk a bit, and in the course of the conversation, the main character ends up inviting them both over to go swimming the next day. He's already invited Jeremy and Charlie over, so he decides it's a good time to make good on his promise to invite Michael and Tasha over, too.

Cut to the next morning when the main character awakes to get ready for the guests to arrive. As he's sitting at the edge of his bed, he thinks to himself, "hmm... I think I'll call Eric and Mel to see if they would like to come swimming with the rest of us." He does, and Eric calls back a little later to tell the main character that he'll be glad to come, but Mel is busy. The main character says this is of course no problem at all.

At this point, the scene shows a quick 5-second blip of the main character making a quick run to the store to grab some drinks followed by a ten minute segment (encompassing about three hours) of him twiddling his thumbs waiting for his friends to arrive. Eric arrives first, and the episode cascades into a montage of swimming followed by guitar playing.

Jeremy doesn't go swimming, so he and the main character entertain the three other friends with some blues and jazz jams. At one point, Eric even joins in on keyboard. Charlie never shows up, but this isn't much of a surprise to anyone because he mentioned on the previous day's phone call that he might have a conflict. As Jeremy and the main character continue playing, the three other friends, worn out from swimming all afternoon, bid them both goodbye. Michael and Tasha promise to come back later that evening to shoot off some leftover Independence Day fireworks. Eventually, Jeremy and the main character call it an afternoon, too, and Jeremy heads home as the credits begin rolling.

The episode closes to the sound of the evening's fireworks.

At times, the events of my life distinctly resemble a haphazard sitcom plot. Take, for instance, the past two days:

In the first scene, the main character goes through a bit of exposition to set the action of the episode rolling. He receives a phone call from his colorful longtime friend Charlie who invites him to a guitar jam. Because the audience has been religiously watching this particular sitcom for so long, they will know that it has been nearly a year since the last guitar jam and that the main character has missed playing music with real people. In a bit of foreshadowing, Charlie tells the main character that the jam will be on Saturday but forgets to provide a time.

In the second scene on the day of the jam, the main character calls another colorful longtime friend Jeremy to see if he knows what time the gathering is set to begin. In this scene's sole punchline, Jeremy, who is actually hosting the gettogether, doesn't have a clue. However, he promises to call the main character as soon as he hears from Charlie. They hang up, but unbeknownst to the main character, Charlie then arrives not half an hour later.

At this point, the scene splits between the main character who has lost track of time doing something inane like web surfing, and the two friends who are trying in vain to call the main character to tell him the jam has started. They try calling several times, but they continually get a busy signal. To give the scene some dramatic irony, the audience knows that this isn't because the main character is on the phone, rather, it is because the two friends are calling the wrong number. For a bit of visual humor, each time they call, the camera shows a single phone ringing in the middle of an empty warehouse.

After a commercial break, the show returns to a point after Jeremy and charlie have finished playing. As they are packing up their equipment, they receive a call from the main character who has finally noticed the time and is curious as to why he never got a call. Hilarity ensues as the three of them figure out exactly what went wrong with the phone calls.

As with every sitcom, this particular show has a happy ending: once the three of them get everything straightened out, the main character offers to hold another guitar jam at his house the next day.

To be continued...

This year's celebration of the birth of the nation led inexorably to the death of several dozen hot dogs and hamburgers. Most of the carnage took place at Eric's house where a bunch of us from Purdue met to catch up, eat a hot dog and hamburger dinner, and finally watch an awesome fireworks display on— and I do mean on— the nearby reservoir. Every year the organizers set up the mortars on the lake's dam and shoot them off over the hundreds of boats gathered to see the show. Thanks to Eric's neighbor Doug who owns a boat, the nine of us were fortunate to be among these hundreds.

The show started a bit late due to rain earlier in the evening, but even so, I don't think I've ever seen such cool a fireworks display. Our boat was right at the front, so we had an unobstructed view of the firings not five hundred yards away. Because of the wind and the angle of the shots, the explosions happened almost directly above our heads, and at times, we were afraid the ashes would rain down on us. Luckily nothing burning did, but at one point a charred piece of cardboard landed in the front of our boat. My ex-catty-corner neighbor Josh took it home as a souvenir. After the show, Eric and Doug lit their own collection of fireworks consisting mostly of fountains and roman candles.

As it should be with every Independence Day, we capped off the evening with ice cream.

My thanks to both Eric and Doug for the great celebration.