This One's a Doozy

A little rain, a cozy fire, a cat clawing at your face, and of course...
some absolutely terrifying cinematic brain poison. Funny Games does not contain monsters, zombies, hockey mask wearing lunatics, chainsaws, vital organs spilling out of lacerated high school football player's abdomens, or glowing teenage vampires. In fact, Funny Games does not even show a single death on screen. This little gem relays on realistic characters, acting, and camera work to demonstrate just how soulless human beings can be.



To fully experience the perverse inhuman madness of Funny Games be sure to forgo the U.S. remake and watch the original German version. It literally had me screaming obscenities at my television as I watched in horror wishing I could jump in and save the hapless victims. Your probably going to need a good church session after watching this one.

My word, is it October already? Are the days already starting to shrink like a pair of testicles submerged in a frigid lake? Are Gourds begginning to spill out over the stacks of hay piled in front of grocery store parking lots? Yes, yes I do belive so, and I also believe that the world’s tastiest ice cream flavor has recently become available.

Pumpkin ice cream is a fletting dessert that seems to fade away before you can truly get your fill. I am always left wishing I had just one more spoonful of that spicy, creamy, pumpkinny goodness.
Well not this year, because I am dedicating October to sampling as many types of pumpkin ice cream as I possibly can. And first on the list is from Treat Ice Cream. This local Creamery produces some of the smoothest old fashioned ice cream in the greater San Jose area, and their pumpkin blend is no exception. I find it especially enjoyable and unique because the raw flavor of fresh pumpkin really stands out. Treat’s pumpkin ice cream doesn’t bombard the palate with sweetness and spice, but rather uses a subtle blend of cloves, cinnamon, ginger, and allspice to enhance the rustic taste of pumpkin. All of Treat’s ice cream is velvetty smooth too, which is an added bonus. It’s going to be hard to top this one.

That Nigga Jess Jones Pt. 1

I sign onto facebook more and more these days. Am I slipping into the void of nothingness and self glorifying bullshitism? Or am I simply looking for a way of digitally chatting with people whom no longer frequent myspace or ichat? The answer is more shrouded in mystery than my sexual orientation, but one thing is for certain, my online facebook alias will forever be Jess Jones.
I created Jess Jones several years ago as a joke and I cannot for the life of me remember why I picked the name this particular name. What I can remember is that when I typed Jess Jones into google images I instantly found the picture of this man.



After all these years I feel obligated to dedicate some Clog time to the man who has selflessly supported my facebook vagrancy over the past few years.


Jesse G. Jones was born on February 26, 1842 in Alabama, and died on April 11, 1917 in Texas (yes, I am sad to say Jess Jones is in fact dead as a god damn door nail). In 1856 Jesse was orphaned by the age of fourteen in Mississippi. He was adopted and educated by a businessman who saw potential in him even as a teenager. Jesse's sisters were raised in Alabama where they had previously lived.

More about Jess Jones to come.

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.