Meanwhile, eight feet below ground, my basement is suffering the opposite problem. A deep, dank moisture greets my nostrils every time I open the basement door  — a smell somewhere between musty and moldy and if not quite evil then full of foreboding. I pick up a piece of paper on the floor and it is wet to the touch just from existing in the basement. A little leather stool in the corner is dotted with mold. The wetness creeps into everything. By August , I imagine it will rot my guitar case, rust my bike chain, and wrap its mossy tentacles around everything until the journals turn to goo and all my photos stick together.

I lament this situation to my lady Anjali. “This city is supposed to have been built on a swamp. Doesn’t grass grow in a swamp? The front lawn is dry as a pizza oven, but the air in the basement is wet as a — as a — ” I search for the right metaphor for really, really wet.

“Isn’t that what a dehumidifier is for?”  she says.

I paused. Anjali has a way of getting to the point.  “Uh…right!” I say.

I get online and buy a DeLonghi dehumidifier that is ENERGY STAR rated and plug it into the outlet in the basement. I program it to 60 percent humidity, which is an approximate 40 percent reduction from the existing basement atmosphere. Less than a day later it shuts itself off; it has already sucked up a bellyful of water.

Now the basement smells a little less Gollum-like. I carry the tank upstairs and pour it in the sink. Eighteen hours later the reservoir fills up again. I picture little water molecules levitating out of my surfing wetsuit, being free-thrown off of my old AYSO participation ribbons.

Much as I enjoy this little swamp reclamation project, something still feels off. I can’t put my finger on it. When I pour all that water down the sink, I feel a twinge of regret.

Then, as I reluctantly water the lawn one night, aiming the hose at the biggest swatches of brown, I realize what is wrong with my disposal system:

I can take the water from my basement and pour it on the lawn!

So now I regularly visit my little basement friend, pull out its collection basin and wrestle it up the stairs, through the front door and into the soupy D.C. heat. I shake all 45 pints on the deadest patches of grass. This is ridiculously satisfying.

That I can attack the source of the gnawing evil in my basement — snatch it right from the air! — and redistribute it, Robin-Hood-like, onto my starving lawn — well, it feels noble, heroic even. It is so 21st Century to be engaged in this kind of re-using. Or is it reducing?

Or — wait a minute — is it recycling … down into the earth and back into my basement?

The Swamp Reclamation Project is a post from: The Ferris Files

Image Credit: www.joyerickson.wordpress.com

I grew up listening to KQED, the public radio station for the San Francisco Bay Area, and I’m exhilarated to announce that I made it on the radio yesterday.

The piece, “Wilderness Calling,” is part of KQED’s Perspectives series, where regular people make their best case on a topic of the day. While some might question if I’m a regular person, I have formed an emphatic opinion about the growing use of cellphones in the great outdoors, based on a jarring experience I had in Yosemite National Park last summer. Listen to the whole thing below. (2 minutes 20 seconds)

Ferris KQED Perspective

Me on KQED: Wilderness Yes, Cellphones No! is a post from: The Ferris Files

Bunkherd Faphimal shows me a thing or two about Muay Thai kickboxing.

On the occasion of Christmas, I extend a thank you to some of the people who helped make 2009 active and memorable. Specifically, I’d like to acknowledge the dojos who offered their time and expertise for “Fighting to Keep Fit,” a story I wrote in the current issue of Men’s Journal.

Word counts are tight in magazines these days, and Men’s Journal didn’t have the space to acknowledge all of the gyms and masters who offered their time and facilities for this story.

Without further ado, I give the following dojos a respectful nod.

Krav Maga: special thanks to Idaho ATA Martial Arts in Boise, where I sweated through front kicks to a soundtrack of Metallica, and to the Academy of Self Defense in Santa Clara, CA, where Woody Mosqueda taught me how to defend against an attack with a bottle, and Everest Pepper showed me the fundamentals of stripping a man of his gun.

Woody Mosqueda winds up to clock me with a bottle.

Tae Kwon Do: A heartfelt thanks goes to Master Kim’s Martial Arts Academy in Sunnyvale, CA, and to Master Kim himself, whose most effective instruction was making me sit in his office for more than an hour as he explained, with great passion, how discipline and honor lie at the heart of martial arts.

Muay Thai Kickboxing: Thanks to Fairtex in San Francisco, where I learned to move on my toes, and to Fight and Fitness, also in San Francisco, where I enjoyed talking about the sport with Rocky at the front desk, and where Bunkherd Faphimal taught me a mean roundhouse kick though I couldn’t understand a word he said.

Karate: Thanks to Prodigy Martial Arts in Los Altos, CA, and especially to Dragon Bushido Dojo in Boise, ID, where Renshi Pon Inthathirath led me through my first kata and where I barked out one of those karate yells the way one is supposed to, from the diaphragm.

Mixed Martial Arts: The most eloquent, thoughtful explanation I ever got of mixed martial arts came from Alan Pagle at Modern Combatives in Berkeley, CA. Thanks also to Nakapan Phungepham at Beta Academy in Washington, D.C., for allowing me a week’s access to his classes in the church basement.

Eduardo Fraga squeezes me in a Mata Leon ("kill the lion"), cutting off the blood supply to my brain.

Brazilian Jiu Jitsu: Eduardo Fraga at Ralph Gracie Jiu Jitsu in Berkeley, CA explained and also demonstrated some of the geometrically challenging moves that make BJJ such a ruthlessly effective art, and also complied with my odd journalists’ request for three Mata Leon in a row. I think I’ve recovered by now, Eduardo!

A Special Thanks to the Dojos is a post from: The Ferris Files

For this assignment, I got instruction in six combat-based martial arts to determine which best serves an individual’s fitness and sports goals. The six I chose were karate, Brazilian jiu jitsu, tae kwon do, muay Thai kickboxing, mixed martial arts, and krav maga. I drew on my fitness-training background to answer some questions that few have ever posed:

Which martial art helps drop the most pounds? Which is the best cross-training for a runner or cyclist? Which is best suited for a multi-tasker, or for a problem-solver?

I would tell you, but you’ll have a much more enjoyable and immersive experience by seeing it for yourself. Next time you’re at the bookstore or in the grocery line, look for it. It’s in the Mind & Body section on page 81.

New-Year’s-Resolution Story in Men’s Journal is a post from: The Ferris Files

Skeeter enjoys the mood lighting in her blinged-out terrarium.

A few years ago, my friend Simon mail-ordered a Mexican fire leg tarantula. She arrived in a vial as a wee spiderling, but after several molts and a steady diet of crickets, she measures five and a half inches across. “Skeeter” lives in a terrarium in the middle of Simon’s coffee table.

This got me curious about people who choose to raise venomous bugs as pets. Why would someone rear a scorpion instead of a tabby cat or a Labrador retriever? In pursuit of a story on this topic for a magazine, I visited the offices of Tarantulas.com in Edmonds, Washington to see how these bugs are born and bred.

I took this video of my visit to the land of the creepy-crawlies. Enjoy the hair rising on the back of your neck!

Raising Your First Tarantula is a post from: The Ferris Files

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Meatpaper is memorable because it pulls meat out of the context in which we’re accustomed to seeing it. There’s no guide to the leanest cuts or recipe for a tangy marinade. Instead, there are profiles of butchers and reviews of artists who use meat as a medium and explorations of what meat means. Open its pages and I realize again that, oh right, meat is from an animal, a creature coursing with blood and a beating heart.

Anjali is Hindu and shuns beef, respecting the sacred role of animal life. At first I thought this would be a source of friction between us (I enjoy the burger, yes I do).

We have been together more than two years and I just noticed that I’ve almost stopped eating beef at home. I’ll go on a red-meat bender at a restaurant when the lust emerges, but that’s about it.

Anjali is also a surgeon. She spends her workdays cutting into the meat of our fellow humans. On the few occasions I’ve seen her wield a scalpel, I am cut to the quick. I get wobbly and have to sit down. Maybe that’s because I’m seeing something I’m not meant to see. Or maybe it’s because I catch a glimpse of what an animal I am, how despite my skills with a steering wheel and keyboard and cell phone I am no more than a sack of flesh and blood, vulnerable to the knife.

And, who knows? Perhaps even tasty in a tangy marinade.

The Other Red Meat is a post from: The Ferris Files

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The cafes are spreading across the country on a shoestring budget and without much fanfare. They’re revealing that Americans aren’t necessarily a bunch of knuckle-draggers when it comes to science. People can be amazed by science at the right opportunity, especially if that opportunity involves beer.

Bottoms up to our curious times.

A Beer, a Bar, a Great Idea is a post from: The Ferris Files

http://www.sierraclub.org/sierra/200711/goodgoing.asp

New story in Sierra magazine is a post from: The Ferris Files

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