Hello citizens of ROCKHOST.COM,

Last week I had the chance to roadtrip, server in tow, up to an undisclosed Kansas City datacenter which shall remain unnamed as I got myself into a minor social media conspiracy via a Foursquare check-in. The military like cold war secrecy of technology does exist. I can tell you that much first hand from the tour. Hell, I had to bring a passport just to get in the front door and separate premade key card for full access to the racks. The drama wasn’t exclusive to location, but rather that I identified myself in a picture against a node of mysterious hardware otherwise known as the cloud.

Now what kind’a rock n’ roll outlaw would I be if I didn’t rebel a little? ;^) So naturally, without further ado…

Pretty interesting field trip for a guy who works from home. Thanks to Tom L for the handshake and warm welcome.

\m/,

Seth Christian Cole [Owner Operator] - ROCKHOST.COM

Alright followers, readers, subscribers, whatever I call the rare few of you these days, it’s time for some nonsense before the winter blues put me down like a bear in hibernation.

Each fall, daylight savings casts a spell over my psyche. Down the rabbit hole I go as a traveler into the dark abyss, spiraling downward, inside a cerebral black hole. I pop vitamin D pills, buy special light bulbs, and abuse the treadmill religiously to no avail.

Let’s just say I have some flavor from southern borders boiling in my blood that the low, blinding sun, can not steep. So for me, the garden is perennial therapy. I self-prescribe mother nature to savor the harmony of chemical balance. I self-medicate old man winter to survive.

You might call me a green thumb. My first Foursquare check-in (and a dork) of all places was at the Douglas County Fairgrounds last April where I found myself rummaging through countless pepper seeds at the local exchange.

An older vagrant fellow motions to me. “You like’a-‘dem hot?” He whispers. “I do.” I reply. Looking around nervously the man reaches deep into his inner jacket pocket. Suspiciously, he slips me a small, resealable, plastic baggy. Paranoid, I play along. “No touch bare skin.” He murmurs. “Bhut Jolokia.” Like a native, he warns, “ghost pepper.” Then floats back into the crowd only to disappear himself.

The mysterious character not only hooks me up with my first heirloom in the manner of some twitchy amateur drug dealer, but shares heat from the fruity flesh of another hemisphere that may just keep my soul warm for the first time ever during the last solstice.

The Bhut Jolokia, or “ghost chili”, holds over one million Scoville Heat Units, approximately three times that of the Habanero. The pepper derives from Assum, India where scientists are waging chili warfare by way of a new stun grenade.

Here’s Adam Richman from The Travel Channel’s Man v. Food doing battle.

That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it. So this is me, Owner Operator, Seth Christian Cole, signing off. See you on the the other side. Until then…