My Grandnephew!

Just looking at pictures of him makes me feel warm and happy. I'm going to North Carolina to meet him in early November. Very much looking forward to it.

Voices of Spring

I'll admit that classical music doesn't mean as much to me as classic rock (and if 90% of you are honest, you'll admit it too). Sure, I know- and like- Beethoven's 9th, and the stuff that everyone knows. Holst: The Planets? Love it. But there are plenty of gaps in my music knowledge. For instance, I'd never heard Voices of Spring until exposed to it in Iceland by Viðar.

Viðar is a 65 year old man whose library contains leather-bound volumes of the Icelandic sagas. His musical preferences don't exactly run along the lines of AC/DC and Megadeth. So when we were driving through the Icelandic countryside, I asked what the hideous music we were listening to was called (I left out the hideous part). He said Voices of Spring in the quizzical way most of us would say "Stairway to Heaven". You know Stairway? Hello! Duh?!' He went on to explain that back then prepubescent boys with beautiful singing voices were castrated in order to preserve their voices at a mezzo-soprano. I'd heard of the practice of castrato before, so I was grossed out for a second time.

I did the best I could to tolerate Voices of Spring, because there are few things I love more than a day trip to a new place. Driving through Iceland was like winning the lottery. There were glaciers! Black mountains! Geyers! Icelandic horses! And... there was Voices of Spring.

I knew I was fortunate to have met such a nice guy on my first trip alone overseas. But Voices of Spring was killing me. Seriously. I did the best I could to not say anything. That is until the ball-free tenor (mezzo soprano, whatever) hit a high note that made the windows in Viðar's car shatter. The singer was like "Ah, ah, ah, ah AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" and I lost it. I asked if he had any other music.

Frank Sinatra never sounded so good.

Living Room

Darkroom vs. Photoshop

I used to love spending time in the darkroom, making images magically appear before my eyes. I was so eager to get the whole process started that I often developed film (plastic reels not metal thank you) in my bathroom at home. I can still picture the 36 exposure strips of Tri-X hanging in my shower.

I've always been a big fan of photographers like Duane Michaels and Jerry Uelsman. While I appreciated the technical expertise of Ansel Adams and Ernst Haas, I favored the photographers who put a provocative spin on the ordinary. I gravitated toward this in my own photography. I spent many an hour burning, dodging, and combining negatives to bring forth my visions. The image below is one of a series I did in the early 80s. I was obsessed with swings as a metaphor for transendence, although this one is more about the nature of memories.


My photography teacher at ASU loved the series, but challenged me to do a powerful, 'straight-up' image of a swing- no darkroom magic. I went to a park the next day, and by that afternoon delivered my results. It was a wonderful feeling to grin smugly as he said "Wow! You really did it!" I'll have to dig up that photo. I know I have it somewhere.

Up until a few weeks ago I had never used Photoshop or any type of image editing software. Now that I'm learning it, Photoshop seems easier than the darkroom in some ways- but not most. I guess it will take time to master it. Here's some playing around I've done so far:



I posted an undoctored version of the pic below a while back. In this one I removed all the grey tones, which I think makes it look better.

An Hour in Parking Lot Shores

What's wrong with this picture?
What's wrong with this picture is that THERE ARE CARS ON THE BEACH. I know this isn't the only beach in the country where people can drive their cars halfway into the ocean, but that doesn't make it ok. Wait, I feel like yelling again. IT DOESN'T MAKE IT OK.

On a lighter note, there are also doggies on the beach. Doggies are good.

And pinchy crustacean remnants which are interesting in a seriously-glad-that-thing-wasn't-scuttling-through-the- sand-toward-me kind of way

Ocean Shores has horses who may or may not bite.

You can ride them while trucks zoom past you. Perhaps the horses' bridles should be outfitted with blinking turn signals. Has anyone in Ocean Shores ever heard of a PARKING LOT? I parked at a Shilo Inn and had a 10 minute walk to the beach. It really wasn't terribly difficult.

These girls had the right idea. I love this photo. I think it looks like a painting.


A beach that is half parking lot is stupid.
But the ocean, the greatest thing on earth, made driving five hours round trip worth it. Even for a one-hour visit.

Sometimes You Have to See Blue Angels

I thought it might be more interesting to see the take off and landing rather than the actual show over Lake Washington. And then there's the real story which is that I was too unorganized to make it up to Seafair in time. Around noon I suddently realized I didn't just want to see the Blue Angels, I had to see them. The show started at 1:30, so after some frantic Googling, I found out they take off and land at the Museum of Flight, near Boeing Field (closer to Tacoma, no parking hassles, etc.) It was cool to see certain 'Who knew?' features such as the fly-by-numbers line up.



The moment before the Blue Angels take off, there is a great plume of smoke. Then they taxi down the runway for a few not-that-fast seconds. By the time you blink they are in the distant horizon.

I'm drawn to overt life force. I can't stand stillness or absolute silence. Having a fan in the room keeps my need for chi happy. Dancing, thundering, graceful, beautiful (yep, I like them) 1,400 mph airplanes in my zone takes me to the source of it all. I don't see an anthropomorphic deity. I see my deity in thunderstorms, ocean waves, mountains, and Blue Angels.

Corny? Maybe when you read it. But definitely not when you feel it.

A Twitter-like Post

Listening to Deep Purple and craving a thunderstorm.

The Crystal Ship

Title is a tribute to my favorite song by The Doors.

Favorite Beatles song: Here Comes the Sun. Favorite Stones song: Paint it Black.

Favorite Lady Gaga song: I don't have one. I don't even know one. I'm 50, Ok?

Brissfully Relieved

For some reason the Jewish holidays came up.

Ok, I'll stop being coy. The Jewish holidays came up because I'm the only Jew at work and it makes me feel different. And special! Me Me Me ME ME. Thank you.

I enjoy sharing my heritage with those who know even less about it than I do.

Let me preface this by saying the woman I'm about to mention is a lovely, intelligent person. It's not her fault that rural Louisiana, where she lived until recently, does not have a large Jewish population.

Me: So anyway, a Bar Mitzvah...

Her: I know what a Bar Mitzvah is!

Me: Really?

Her : (nodding head sagely) It's when a 13 year old boy gets circumcized.

Me: Umm...What you're talking about is called a briss and...

Her: Yeah! They remove the foreskin.

Me: Uh, that's right but...

Her (puzzled look on her face): How do they get 13 year old boys to agree to that?

I love my new apartment

Photos soon

Facets

Your Friendly Neighborhood Pharmacy

I love my neighborhood. It borders Commencement Bay and is in walking distance to downtown. It has a village feel to it, with nice locally owned and operated businesses. My neighborhood is not, thank goodness, quaint. Say the word quaint around me and it's possible you'll see me shudder. Say 'quaint little bed and breakfast' and I may run out of the room screaming.

My neighborhood has a pharmacy called Rankos that's been around for many decades. I used to get my prescriptions filled there until 1. The antique pharmacist handed me some guy's Viagra instead of my sinus medicine 2. The same pharmacist again gave me someone else's prescription 3. The pharmacist gave me my correct prescription, with two other prescription-filled plastic bags stuck to it, and 4. The pharmacist looked at me one day when I was deep in thought and said "Are you always happy?"

Huh?

Let's put it this way: When I told this story to friends tonight they burst out laughing.

I'm often silly, entertaining, amused, interested, and various other engaged-by-life descriptors, but I am clearly not a person who is always happy. I walk around very lost in my own head. My expression at such times is more likely to be viewed as intense or even mildly frightning than carefree or happy.

So. No more friendly neighborhood pharmacy.

In news that is actually apropos of something (though I'm not sure what) I'm moving into a different apartment within my same building. I'll explain why and take pics when I move in later this month.

Puzzle Piece

I See in Portals

Interview

Q: When are you going to stop taking pictures of trees and rainbows and start writing again?

A: I don't know. I'm working on other writing projects and not that many people read my blog anyway. And I'm proud of my creative way with trees, rainbows, and abstracts, so I enjoy sharing those.

Q: How's your life?

A: Functional, but I'm having a mid-life breakthrough

Q: When did you start using vomity euphemisms like 'mid-life breakthrough' instead of 'midlife crisis'?

A: Just now. It won't happen again.

Touchdown

Impressionist Driveway

Follow the Light

Easter Schmeaster

Pardon my irreverence, but I really wanted Macy's to be open today.

For the Record

I was using one of the computers in the lobby of the Fredriksburg, Denmark Radisson when I found out my nephew and his wife were pregnant.

Ok, I'm old. Saying a couple is pregnant sounds retarded to me. My nephew's wife is pregnant. Not my nephew.

I was at work today when my mom called to tell me the ultrasound showed it's a boy. It also showed that said boy is swimming, running, and doing gymnastics in utereo. Not surprising considering his parents each have about 4% body fat and run about a hundred miles a day.

I am really excited about this baby.