For about the last six months or so I’ve been getting hit every few days by tons of spam on teebiss.com

In the past I diligently go into my weblog config and delete each piece. It’s never more than a few spam comments, so no big deal.

Recently, however, it’s been getting worse. I delete their comments and ban their IP addresses, and they keep coming back. The attacks are more frequent and there is more of it.

Today was finally the straw the broke the camel’s back. I got hit so fucking hard by spammers this morning that it took me 30 minutes to delete all their comments and ban their IP addresses. This is ridiculous.

Enough is enough.

Until I can find a better solution, all commenters will be required to register through TypeKey before addding a comment to any post on this website. I hate to do it, I know it’s a hassle, but that’s the way it’s gotta be for now.

To all those spammers out there that have been making my life difficult and policing this site a chore, let me extend a hearty FUCK YOU to you and yours this holiday season. Now, spammers, please go fuck yourselves.

Friday afternoon I drove out to Disco Bay to kick it with Dave. We spent the evening killing a 30 pack of Coors Light, BBQ’ing steaks, and playing Tiger Woods 2005. When we were suitably drunk we switched to GTA: San Andreas and played until we passed out.

Saturday morning we woke up and went to Hooters in Pleasanton. Everyone knows that Hooters has a reputation for chicks in short-shorts and not much else, this much is true. However, not everyone knows that Hooters has the best damn Buffalo Wings in the world. Even Dave’s wife agrees–she loves the place. 50 wings and 5 pitchers of beer later we were done. Finished. Stuffed.

Dave and I drove around Livermore, going from Lowe’s to Home Depot, buying shit for his backyard. When we got home we spent the rest of the daylight hours ripping up his backyard and making the landscaping look mo’ pretty. When the sun went down and our work was done, it was time for more Le Tigre.

That game is so addicting. Add some ice cold Silver Bullets, radio remote controllers, and the most comfortable couch in the world and you’ve got one outstanding Saturday evening. I don’t know what time we went to bed that night, but the beer was gone and we were both stumbling.

Sunday morning I woke up and prepared myself for another day of work. When Dave informed me that his wife had a day of shopping/whatever planned instead I was secretly happy that my tired old back was going to get a day off. I came home and spent the rest of the day on the heating pad.

Now it’s Monday morning and I feel great! I’m rested, I’ve got my coffee and a bowl of raisin bran, and I’m ready to… hmmm… what should I do today?

Well I’m back from my hunting trip. Post-mountains depression has struck, and I’m suffering. After spending 8 days in the Shasta-Trinity wilderness, and being completely disconnected from all tech gadgets, and the outside world, I’m back in Hayward. And I’m miserable.

It was a great year at “The Compound”. Me, Scott, Jimmy, and Kurt spend the entire week at the cabin. A few people would show up, stay for a few days, and leave. But they’d soon be replaced by others. We averaged 8 people each night. Neil, Scott’s father, was there and so was Scott’s little sister Karen.

A typical day of hunting starts early. Like, butt-crack of dawn early. The alarm goes off at 5:30am every day, and Scott makes sure you get up. It’s pitch-black dark outside and freezing cold. Just before the sun comes up, at around 6:30am, the temperature is at its lowest–around 38 degrees.

So Scott runs around the room each morning shaking everyone’s bed, yelling “GET UP! GET UP!” until you peel back your sleeping bag and stand up. You get dressed, drink a gallon of coffee, eat a bran muffin, and leave the cabin, headin’ up that mountain in the dark, in the cold, and almost every day in the rain, tired as hell, but happy as a clam.

Tuesday morning Scott and I are out hunting one of the clearcuts. It’s pouring down rain, and I’m semi dry under my poncho. A nice 3×3 buck sticks his head up, Scott sees him, and lead flies. It took us 4 hours to gut and skin that buck, he was huge. Neil, who’s been hunting up there for 40 years, tells us it’s the biggest buck he’s ever seen come off the mountain. When we were finished we split a 30 pack of Coors Light and a bottle of rum. Later that same day Karen shot her first buck, and good for her! She’s been hunting for 15 years, since she was 12. Neil, Scott and Karen’s father, was so proud of his son and daughter I thought his head would explode.

We spent the rest of the week walking up and down the mountainsides, through the mud and the rain and the snow. One afternoon we took a break to shoot 3 cases of clay pigeons with our shotguns. Other than that, we hunted pretty hard, from sunup to sundown, every day.

Trinity has the most breathtaking scenery in California, outside of Yosemite Valley. The steep, very steep mountains and old volcano craters and cones are covered in thick green trees. Pine, fir, oak, too many to list. This time of year some trees have changed colors, and stick out like a sore thumb in the verdant sea, with their firey leaves and yellow tones. When I close my eyes I see Trinity.

So I spend a week with Scott and our friends. I get home, unpack a little, and eat some leftover spaghetti, depression setting in. Scott calls me, and we talk for an hour, he’s depressed too. I just spent a whole week hunting with the guy, and we’re yakking on the phone? What are we, schoolgirls?

So I’m back now. Back in the city. It will take me awhile to recover, to get back to normal, whatever that is. Sometimes I wonder who the real Tom Bissell is. Is it the Tom Bissell that lives in the Bay Area, the techophile? Or is it the Tom Bissell that’s only alive when he’s in the mountains?

Is it a bear??? (click to enlarge pic)