Brooklyn and South Street Seaport, Manhattan NY

I'm not sure what is going on here.

Chicot State Park

This is sort of in the central part of Louisiana where we went camping this summer. I got a tick and there was no cell phone service, but it was a great time.

enlarge this one and take a look at the roots exposed by the bayou

Interesting

This is a blog from a guy who goes through photos that he finds randomly on file-sharing networks like Limewire. Photos from ordinary people all around the world - pictures that they may not even realise they are sharing from their computers. I kind of like to think that it is a snapshot into people's personal lives, a moment in time around the planet that shows what each person might be seeing or experiencing at that instant - staring at the light on your bedroom ceiling, watching the sun rise over houses in Sri Lanka, playing Wii and drinking vodka in a Czech slum, flying a plane over Oregon forests, peering down a neighbors driveway in East Texas.

Click here:

http://www.foundphotos.net/

In William Faulkner’s book, “The Sound and the Fury” there are words and images that express such a deep, and devastating sense of loss, that it makes your heart feel heavy and dense, like velvet lined lead in your chest. And there is a pervasive phrase throughout the book that still rings in my mind. “She smelled like trees.”

I had the fortunate experience of having grandparents that had not only lived out in the country with chickens and cows, but also had a tennis court, a pool, mountains of discarded “junk” in the barnyard for contraptions and hideouts, several barns for said purpose, and acres upon acres of woods and gullies.

When we were younger, everything had a personality and a soul, I can still walk around and tell you the personality of every tree and every place. There was the tree filled with huge black carpenter ants, the knot was stained black where they came out. There was the tree by the back porch where the rain would trickle down the trunk, past the hanging laundry and broom, over the whitewash, while I listened to the thunder and my grandma watched soaps and folded clothes. There were the two trees in the front that supported the white wooden swing, their trunks grown over the rusty metal pole between them. There where the trees with the knotty exposed roots where the chickens had pecked them bald by the barn where we fed them every morning, There was a tree by the statue of the virgin Mary. There was the tree in the front surrounded with a 5 foot radius of lush ferns that were watered twice daily in there white 5 gallon buckets, ferns relatives would often borrow for weddings and anniversaries. There was the tree behind the basketball goal that kept basketballs and tennis balls from going too far out of bounds. There was some weird tree between the highway and the tennis court that I always thought was a tuttle tuttle tree from Dr. Suess. There was the orange tree, grapefruit tree, cumquat tree, pecan tree and fig tree in the orchard, and the persimmon tree. We all got in trouble for when we had a persimmon war one autumn. The tree with the tire swing in the orchard that would always ruin your clothes if you didn’t line it with old news paper. There were the big muscadine vines that grew over the fence between the house and the tennis court. There was even a pirate tree if you were willing to make the hour long hike through the woods with your pellet gun, a huge fallen pine with old cow bones near it my grandpa told us were the bones of pirates that used to sail the gully.

Its strange to see it all now, 3 years after she passed. It has been more or less abandoned since then. She had 7 children and somewhere around 28 grandchildren. She cooked dinner every Sunday, and most of us, usually about 25 or so, sometimes more if extended family or friends would all show up after church, for dinner. There would be 2 six foot collapsible tables set up in the living room, a smaller square one in the kitchen, combined with the normal dinner table with its expander put in, 20 or so extra folding metal chairs would be taken out of the closet in the old back bedroom “the girls’ room.” 25 or 3o family members eating and exchanging stories and jokes under the same roof, every single week at the same time and in the same place. There would be rice dressing, German fried potatoes cooked in a fryer outside, corn, brisket, rolls, iced tea, wine, green salad, fruit salad, and later in the day home made ice cream made in a churn with ice and salt. After dinner everyone would pitch in with the dishes, folding up the tables and chairs in the livingroom, wiping them down, bringing them back to the girls room. Some cousins would go to the back and play Nintendo, some would trek out to the woods with pellet guns and sometimes get in trouble for ending up in a field miles away, or shooting at crop dusters, some would pull out the huge rolling chest full of toys, some would swim or play basketball on the tennis court, sometimes there would be a softball game in the barn yard. And there were a few instances when we would actually try to catch a chicken by hand and put it to sleep by tucking its head under its wing and rocking it (yes, it actually works). At least 2 cousins would spend the night there almost every night; you could hear the katydids chirping so loud it almost drowned everything out, owls, coyotes would howl in the woods some nights. But you always felt safe there, incredibly safe. The linins and rooms where always meticulously clean, the sheets were always cool and crisp under the whirring ceiling fans and the ice cold window unit AC in the back where we would sleep when we stayed over. Sometimes we would watch an old black and white TV before bed.

Now, being a little older, having lost her suddenly to a stroke, and a very close cousin my same age on that side of the family to suicide within 3 years. My grandfather moved out and got remarried. The house is empty, completely empty. All of the whitewash has crumbled off the trees, the tennis court has turned black and grey and needs painting. The basketball goal is broken, the ferns are all gone, the old barns are falling down. The toys and games and pictures on the walls have all been parceled out and gone their separate ways. And things in life just don’t seem as secure or certain anymore. There is no matriarch to shield us from how desolate and lost the world can feel some days. There is no barnyard softball, no crisp, cool sheets, or an army of family. There are no rainy Sundays lying on the carpet in the den watching television with blankets and pillows. There are no carpenter ants. I don’t hear the coyotes or owls at night anymore safely in the distance outside my walls. And I don’t hear the aphids like a choir in their tree lofts making an ebbing and surging fugue.

And I miss those things, especially knowing that they can never be that way again. I guess that’s why I can understand Faulkner’s character, a debilitated man, trapped in time and unable to reconcile the innocence and comfort of something that once was, with a foreign and unforgiving reality that comes with years. And I guess that letting that be, just the way it is, is what makes a person old on the inside, and makes him grateful, quiet, sad, and humble.

Last Thoughts on Woodie Guthrie

"When you're laggin' behind an' losin' your pace
In the slow-motion crawl or life's busy race
No matter whatcha doin' if you start givin' up
If the wine don't come to the top of your cup"

Crowley at Night.

I've always thought Crowley might be haunted. Maybe its how many funerals you hear about, or the fact that LA Highway 13 turns into the main drag. Or just the preserved history that is everywhere you look. But there's something just a little alive about the places here, like they whisper. Dax Riggs, another Louisiana native, used to know a friend of a friend here in Crowley. I think he said it best when he crooned "my lord yeah, the devil is just out of frame."

Redux.

Been playing with Adobe Lightroom, compare these with the straight from the camera ones...

CS done.

We used to have a coach in high school for phys-ed that was pretty laid back. Every day we would get dressed in and be sitting on the bleachers in the gym. He would walk out of his office and we would ask "Say coach, what are we doing today?" To which he would reply in a raspy Creole accent: "Relaaxin'"

I liked that guy's attitude.

A Word on Responsible Ferret Ownership.

This was a flier that was up at my laundromat. I especially like the part of the flier that says "if you see him, grab him..."

Of course, because I'm accustomed to picking up strange weasels...

If I see Dubby I'll just drive him right over to your house, he can sit on my lap while I drive, I'll feed him a carrot stick, might even let him steer...

'How uncommon is it that someone loses a ferret?' I thought... So I Googled "lost ferret," and sure enough - over 4 million hits. There was even a WikiAnswer page with a 4 paragraph explanation on how to find your furry ferret friend. I guess if any animal really needs that long of an explanation on how to find it, it is appropriate that it would be an animal with the undesirable connotation of being 'sneaky.'

I suppose ferret owners are a passionate group, judging by the last sentence of the wikianswer. "Please try to find your ferret to prevent him from suffering an unnecessary and horrible death. "

'Unnecessary and horrible death?!' Is this person being helpful, or holding the ferret for ransom?

Listen, stop playing games with me and just give me back my ferret.

And yeah, I'm being serious...
http://wiki.answers.com/Q/How_do_you_find_a_lost_Ferret

Peter Schiff needs to be my financial advisor.

I love how these guys laugh at him like he's a lunatic in 2006. Three years later he was dead on, and he knew he would be.

"You're right, one of us is off base. It's not me" -Peter Schiff of Euro Pacific Capital

The Ducks in the Bathroom are not mine.

This is a real correspondence between a management company and a tenant regarding the company's "no pets" rule.


From: David Thorne
Date: Thursday 21 May 2009 10.16am
To: Helen Bailey
Subject: Pets in the building

Dear Helen,

Thankyou for your letter concerning pets in my apartment. I understand that having dogs in the apartment is a violation of the agreement due to the comfort and wellbeing of my neighbours and I am currently soundproofing my apartment with egg cartons as I realise my dogs can cause quite a bit of noise. Especially during feeding time when I release live rabbits.

Regards, David.



From: Helen Bailey
Date: Thursday 21 May 2009 11.18am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Pets in the building

Hello David

I have received your email and wish to remind you that the strata agreement states that no animals are allowed in the building regardless of if your apartment is soundproof. How many dogs do you have at the premises?

Helen



From: David Thorne
Date: Thursday 21 May 2009 1.52pm
To: Helen Bailey
Subject: Re: Re: Pets in the building

Dear Helen,

Currently I only have eight dogs but one is expecting puppies and I am very excited by this. I am hoping for a litter of at least ten as this is the number required to participate in dog sled racing. I have read every Jack London novel in preparation and have constructed my own sled from timber I borrowed from the construction site across the road during the night. I have devised a plan which I feel will ensure me taking first place in the next national dog sled championships. For the first year of the puppies life I intend to say the word mush then chase them violently around the apartment while yelling and hitting saucepan lids together. I have estimated that the soundproofing of my apartment should block out at least sixty percent of the noise and the dogs will learn to associate the word mush with great fear so when I yell it on race day, the panic and released adrenaline will spur them on to being winners. I am so confident of this being a foolproof plan that I intend to sell all my furniture the day before the race and bet the proceeds on coming first place.

Regards, David.



From: Helen Bailey
Date: Friday 22 May 2009 9.43am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Pets in the building

David, I am unsure what to make of your email. Do you have pets in the apartment or not?

Helen



From: David Thorne
Date: Friday 22 May 2009 11.27am
To: Helen Bailey
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Pets in the building

Dear Helen,

No. I have a goldfish but due to the air conditioner in my apartment being stuck on a constant two degrees celcius, the water in its bowl is iced over and he has not moved for a while so I do not think he is capable of disturbing the neighbours. The ducks in the bathroom are not mine. The noise which my neighbours possibly mistook for a dog in the apartment is just the looping tape I have of dogs barking which I play at high volume while I am at work to deter potential burglars from breaking in and stealing my tupperware. I need it to keep food fresh. Once I ate leftover chinese that had been kept in an unsealed container and I experienced complete awareness. The next night I tried eating it again but only experienced chest pains and diarrhoea.

Regards, David.



From: Helen Bailey
Date: Friday 22 May 2009 1.46pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Pets in the building

Hello David

You cannot play sounds of dogs or any noise at a volume that disturbs others. I am sure you can appreciate that these rules are for the benefit of all residents of the building. Fish are fine. You cannot have ducks in the apartment though. If it was small birds that would be ok.

Helen



From: David Thorne
Date: Friday 22 May 2009 2.18pm
To: Helen Bailey
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Pets in the building

Dear Helen,

They are very small ducks.

Regards, David.



From: Helen Bailey
Date: Friday 22 May 2009 4.06pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Pets in the building

David, under section 4 of the strata residency agreement it states that you cannot have pets. You agreed to these rules when you signed the forms. These rules are set out to benefit everyone in the building including yourself. Do you have a telephone number I can call you on to discuss?

Helen



From: David Thorne
Date: Friday 22 May 2009 5.02pm
To: Helen Bailey
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Pets in the building

Dear Helen,

The ducks will no doubt be flying south for the winter soon so it will not be an issue. It is probably for the best as they are not getting along very well with my seventeen cats anyway. .

Regards, David.



From: Helen Bailey
Date: Monday 25 May 2009 9.22am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Pets in the building

David, I am just going to write on the forms that we have investigated and you do not have any pets.

Helen

Random Things I See from my Couch...

Track Review - Zach Hill "Dark Art"

Dawn on a quiet suburban street that could be any of the neatly manicured estates in Long Island or Connecticut, fresh dew glistening in the oblique 8 a.m. sunlight. From the silence - a droning, synchronous, bleating - like malfunctioning electronic mice being shocked in their cage, trapped between stations. A window from another world opens somewhere out of frame. It is somewhere on a generic corner, maybe the corner of Elm and Pine street - giving the intersection of hell and earth a brief reprieve from its mundane and otherwise lackluster existence. (You can imagine a portal in such a place having its own manufactured copper plaque complete with synthetic patina.) A character something like a villain from a Todd MacFarlane graphic novel jogs casually into view, in front of the boring, square, reserved facade -

Irreverent, defiant, and too busy worrying about what he is running from to even notice the perfectly edged brick sidewalks.

The synth distilled chorus surges like an organ "fight or flight" as the villain (hero?) continues to look over his shoulder, ostensibly running from whoever or whatever wills to put him back in his place. You can almost palpate the fear and anxiety, like the sole surviving member of an escape party from hell who's plans went horribly wrong. It would seem almost light hearted- the Misfits pop-horror feel, the tapered leg jeans, the face paint...

Only if it weren't for the blood tinged sputum, gritty wild eyed fearful looks over your shoulder and the electronic 2/4 drone of a frightening, deadly serious and inescapable truth - "Behind your face, that's where the world is. That is where everyone lives. We didn't know what we thought we know." Zach Hill is about as talented and original as any new music I've heard this year.



More from Zach Hill. This may be some of the best drumming you'll ever see - I don't think the frame rate on youtube can keep up with how fast he's playing.




http://www.myspace.com/zachhillmusic

Memorial Day at Sagamore and Caumsett.

View from the Fields mansion, down to the lake.

The Fields mansion. Former home of the the former newspaper and department store mogul Marshall Fields III

Down the path from the mansion to the lake.

Sure, this photo looks idyllic, but it was next to a lake... with geese who also like shade... When we picked up the blanket there was a big green poo stain. Leigh Ann blamed it on the geese....

The home of Theodore Roosevelt, I've never been to a more quiet and comfortable looking "estate."

This windmill pumped water from the property's well.

Sagamore Hill's old brick car port.

Above the front door, and also reportedly inked into the former president's skin - "He who planted will preserve."

The back door by the car port

Antlers on the eave of the roof.

Leigh, mourning (?) the death of Teddy Roosevelt's horse "Texas."

Headstone for all of the Roosevelt's lost pets.

Yup....

Saturn's new fuel-efficient compact that runs on sadness and repressed childhood memories.

This is never OK.

This is either a cry for help, or this car is owned by a 53 y.o. divorcee' who obsesses about Adam Lambert and has an extensive Beanie Baby collection... Maybe both.... Either way, I'm 100% sure that the interior of her dimly lit house is almost entirely pink, and she cries herself to sleep most nights. It is never OK to have one, let alone 7-8 stuffed animals on your back dash. This woman (or man) [[ the author of this blog shudders at the thought]] has single handedly, and permanently, reset the high end of my creep-meter.

In Life, Anything is Possible... Except for Dinosaurs... -Tracy Morgan

Yesterday, we visited the Museum of Natural History on the west side of Central Park. I immediately started dragging Leigh Ann around excitedly, staring up, saying things like "look at this!" "Did you know about the male Angler Fish?!" And So, I discovered that my enthusiasm for dinosaurs obviously has not faded over 27 years.

They had all of my childhood favorites - stegosaurus, t-rex, pterodactyls, raptors, pleisiosaurs, etc. There was a huge exhibit on gems and geology. A whole section of meteorites. The hall of biodiversity with tons of specimens of almost ever animal you can imagine, from worms to birds to crabs and turtles.

The museum had a section of the Mark Twain tree, which was cut down by two guys with axes (it took over 13 days.) It had been growing since the year 525 A.D. We had meant to go see the planetarium, but being that the ticket prices were a little steep and the next show didn't start for a while - we decided to leave it for another day and instead do something more outdoors. But I've included a shot of the outside, a gigantic indoor sphere, because, well, it's pretty impressive.

As Leigh Ann tells me, this whale is almost certainly not made of solid wood. But is perhaps made of something hollow and light.

So we hopped in a cab and headed to the corner of 60th and 2nd ave. This is where the Roosevelt Island Tramway boards to go to Roosevelt Island. I had once seen the tram on a foggy and rainy day, not knowing that NYC had a tramway I thought at first I may be imagining things. The red floating trolley just sort of appeared in the misty gray-ness from behind a building, silently floated above and across the street. And then it disappeared behind the buildings on the other side of the street. I had never seen it or heard of it before, and never saw it again. So I just sort of forgot about it until the other day.

In any case, it takes you from Manhattan, lifts you above the streets for a bit, then travels above the East River, parallel to the Queensborough Bridge and drops you silently on to Roosevelt Island.

The island is very quiet, and maybe as wide as a football field is long. We found out from a lady that we rode with that the island used to be a quarantine island for those with smallpox, to separate them from the healthy population on the mainland in Manhattan, Long Island, Queens, and Brooklyn. Adding to that bit of creepiness, there were the castle-like ruins of an old smallpox hospital buried in the trees and wilderness at the southern tip of the island.

The building was designed by James Renwick - the same architect that designed the famous St. Patrick's Cathedral, the NY Stock Exchange, and the Smithsonian. As she told us "There's usually a gate with barbed wire to keep people out. But sometimes they leave it open" Of course we went. The ruins were impressive, with some Roosevelt Island employees fishing and looking on as we walked up the gravel road leading to the site. It also gave us some one of a kind views of the Manhattan skyline.









When we came back we ate at this great pizza place called Patsy's, had some sparkling wine on the sidewalk (because we're high class like that...) And then we went shopping at Urban outfitters, well, I more kinda walked a little further up the street and picked up a map while Leigh Ann did, but all the same.

We went by a couple of bars in Greenwich Village and SoHo, some were too crowded, some were a little to dressed up for someone who's been trekking all day with a camera and shopping bags. But in the end we found a couple that were great.

Really the best one was in the back room of Cafe' Select. It's not advertised, in fact, you have to ask specifically to go back there - and when you do, you're pointed through the kitchen full of cooks donning all white to an unmarked door. On the other side is a speakeasy style bar with concrete and brick walls, old artifacts from the 1940's, a ton of Christmas lights, a water heater, a loft with handmade stairs suitable for a treehouse, an Asian bartender with blond hair from Sweden (?), and James Bond themed music. In short - Amazing.

Links:

Diabetting: This site combines Type I diabetes... and gambling... I'm in...

This sight combines music, youtube, and those weird magic tricks magicians ask the audience to participate in on TV

Random, abstract, quietness

Interesting links:

10 Fascinating Art Installations

10 Geological Wonders you didn’t know

Reposts: