Why is it, when I think of Cameron or Clegg, I automatically think "keg"?
Have you ever monitored the output of the professors at Woodrow Wilson College?
Last night, I sat and listened to a typical academician's report on an ongoing report about academic issues - the intersection of scientists and entrepreneurship presented by David Audretsch, Ph.D., on the campus of UAHuntsville. I stuck it out for 30 minutes before I figured I had better things to do, like finding scientifically-minded entrepreneurs instead of hearing about digging some out of a statistically-significant pile.
Despite contrariness on my part, happiness is my only act of sacredness. Otherwise, nothing is sacred to me - all subjects are not off-limits or off-subject.
Labels are labels - if, for instance, a person says s/he is for limited government but works for a government contractor or an entity that receives government funding, I ask myself if anything that person says is supposed to make just as much sense.
It's easier to turn a blind sow's ear than to make pearls out of evergreen trees.
So it's facts I deal with and let people throw out all the labels they choose to use to support whatever tautology they wish to call their own.
A simple fact. I heard Soos Weber give a presentation on why it's important to preserve acreage in the state of Alabama to ensure we have clean drinking water, places for huntable/fishable wildlife to spawn/reproduce, and recreational areas for us people to get away from it all every now and then. Especially when the funding comes from offshore drilling and not from the state's coffers.
Nowadays, anyone with a computer, a projector and a laser pointer can give a powerful slideshow presentation.
Thus, as much as I know Soos and trust that the board of trustees of Forever Wild have my best interests (as a general citizen) at heart, I had to find out for myself if their intentions lined up with reality.
Yesterday, I jumped on the computer, looked up a nearby wildlife management area called The Walls of Jericho, packed a shoulder bag with water, dried almonds/cranberries, apple, water and first aid kit, slipped on a pair of sneakers under my dress pants and drove an hour or so to a gravel parking lot.
On the way there, I realized there was a public outdoor shooting range and a local road called Highway 65 that any God-rearing hogriding member of the NRA would love to travel and get to.
Imagine the perfect family vacation. Dad and son like the bikes and the guns. Mom and daughter like horse riding and stirring up some victuals. They load up their horses, picnic gear and motorbikes, pull off on Highway 65, let momma drive the truck on to The Walls of Jericho horse trail in the Skyline Management Area while the boys take off on their bikes to get to the shooting range before they stop at the The Walls of Jericho hiking trail. They all meet up at the Walls of Jericho picnic/camping area hungry as a bunch of hibernating bears in spring.
But I digress. After I shouldered my pack, put on my NASCAR cap, and grabbed my handmade walking stick out of the trunk of the car at 10:30, an hour and a half later I stood inside the natural amphitheater called The Walls of Jericho. Imagine, if you can, seeing Niagara Falls without water rushing over the precipice. That's The Walls of Jericho, walls of jericho, walls of... [simulating echo effect].
To get there you zigzag through switchbacks, walk across two log footbridges and see lots of wooded hillsides. Tread quietly and you'll observe the natural setting for great barred owls, minnows, cardinals and other creatures I won't mention because you have to be there to appreciate them.
When I got there at noon, two young persons were rolling up their campsite where they had slept under the stars on the edge of The Walls of Jericho the night before.
I ate my apples, almonds and cranberries, downed half a liter of water, snapped a few photos with my pocket-sized cannon (make that a Canon SD1200 Elph) and within 15 minutes I was on the trail again, returning along the edges of cliffs and dropoffs, passing other solitary hikers making their way into the "Grand Canyon of the South."
By 13:45 I was back at the car - sweaty, happy and talkative - describing to some hesitant folks in the carpark exactly how strenuous the 5-mile hike was in dress pants and sneakers. I convinced one couple to find an easier trail and another couple to take the challenge.
By 15:00 I was home, taking a shower (and then later a nap) before getting ready to hear Paul A. flip electronic charts about milking academic scientists for money.
I am a happy man. Although I live in a state that has the lowest number of publicly accessible lands to enjoy, there are still many choices for outdoor hiking/camping (as opposed to mall walking and hotel sleepovers) within a drive of an hour or so.
This in a metropolitan area that some joke has the highest number of Ph.D.s per square inch.
What more can a good ol' boy like me, with the intelligence my parents gave and nurtured in me, ask for?
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