From the Pages of Walden, Post 1.

"Our life is frittered away by detail. An honest man has hardly need to count more than his ten fingers, or in extreme cases he may add his ten toes, and lump the rest." - Henry David Thoreau

I translate this to literally mean, fuck math. Math and numbers have no place in this world. They simply bog down the mind waste precious sheets of binder paper, that could be put to far better use as canvas for sonnets and materials paper footballs. People say that money is the root of all evil, when in fact it is is numbers that account for life's most stressful endeavors.


My math skills have taken me about this far

Long Time no Quynh

I had been a number of months since I last updated The Clog. I could on for hours blaming my friends, family, and erectile disfunction, but the fact of the real culprit is Lane Kerans. He failed to pay for the website name and I was unable to log into Calderclog.com. I now must resort to using the original site, and it brings me great sorrow. How ever will I continue on in life knowing that my beloved Clog has the words "blogspot" attached to it. I guess I will do the only thing I can do...


...post strange pictures involving my cat and my friends.


Weed King recently transformed into a walrus


I also made Jesse a single pancake!

Now that I think about it, by blaming Lane I completely accused my friend of hindering my blogging. When all is said and done, I guess I was just lazy.

Whole Lotta Nothing

It has been a solid six months or so since I travelled from Colorado to Sacramento with my pops and grandpops. They had been driving all the way from Maine and requested that I be air lifted in halfway through their journey to assist them. Unfortunately my elders failed to realize I cannot operate a stick shift, so I did little more than take pictures and force them to pull over at strange restaurants and skateparks. My only positive contribution to the trip was keeping my dad company after 7pm, which has always been my grandpa's bedtime.


The severed head of Abraham Lincoln staring out over the highway.


Ken Calderwood himself, chowing down on a dollar ice cream cone.


Pure desolation in Utah.


Pure crack mayne, pure unfiltered crack!


This is how the people of Elko Nevada trim their lawns.


It's all about the scenery children.

Not so Seasonal

Once upon a dreary december night whilst writing poetry by candle light and playing with... ok so that was a lie, this story begins on a typical spring day. The type of day where the sun shows itself at 7 am and retreats to the heavens at a leisurely 8 pm. The type of day that is overflowing with the chirps of sparrows and vibrant colors of newly born poppies. It was the type of day where Quynh would forever become my life long companion.


"Eh dawg, check out what I got ya at da liquor sto" (these are all actually Quynh quotes).


My dear cat had found the last remaining 12 pack of Celebration Ale; a wonderfully hop filled winter ale with a beautiful color and belly warming smoothness.


"Chill out ho, it's actually just a ten pack. Some mark ass trick must have swiped a couple, no wonder it was so cheap."


Cheers my friend.

Typical Jive

It's not at all unusual for a Calderwood to engage in some sort of strange activity for no apparent reason at an unexpected time. I have inherited this trait and learned to embrace it, but it is my father who truly has made an art form out of what appears to most as a behavioral disorder. I have witnessed my father roast nuts at 5:30 in the morning, clean the gutters while it is pouring rain, and most recently...

begin carving up a smoked turkey half way through watching The Hurt Locker.


My dad and I find it very hard to stay focused on a movie that exceeds two hours, no matter how engrossing it may be.


"Try this, it's the shits (my father says "the shits" instead of "the shit)."

Double your Pleasure

Oh what a joy it is to eat eggs. Nothing is more satisfying than caressing that smooth shiny orb, cracking it open on the edge of a frying pan, and watching the embryo with slide gracefully onto a nonstick surface generously coated in warm butter. What on earth could ever compare to such a euphoric experience?

It is on those rare occasions when two yolks reside in one shell, that you truly experience life. It's just like eating siamese twins. Or think of it as twice the cholesterol, twice the taste, and twice the fun!

Making Love to a Dead Horse

Listen, I hate to beat a dead horse (or make love to one, as title indicates) but I must remind all of you wonderful Cloggers that I am still very much interested in exchanging oven fresh treats for product. The supply of boards I once enjoyed with reckless abandon has dwindled away to almost nothing. I am more than willing to make pies for anyone who wants to barter, but have recently expanded my range of baked goods to include breads and pastry.



You to can be in possession of a giant loaf of olive rosemary bread. All you must do is, yah know, hook me up with some weed, errrr I mean crack, I mean POT! Wait maybe some bearings.



Why go to Paris when you can just give me a board and experience all that France has to offer. Croissants come plain or with ham, cheese, chocolate, turkey, swiss, bacon, meth, heroine, almond, and just about anything else you can think of that doesn't cost me more than fifty dollars. Because if that happens to be the case, then I am just going to buy myself a board and spend the time it would take baking on better things like doing hard core CRACK!