2014/06/07(sat)

Asshole Carnival Vol.2

at Earthdom

ANAL VOLCANO

Mecosario (岡崎)

Retch

GO-ZEN

SAIGAN TERROR

ZENOCIDE

DJ : LOVEJUICE

Wednesday

A day of rain.

And a trip to Newcastle.

Hmmmm, Newcastle.

We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.

There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.

Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.

We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.

We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.

Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.

I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.

I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.

Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.

Sounded fair to us, so we paid, and our guide explained the history of the arcade and the surrounding area, all gentrified in the 1830s, which so resembled fine Parisian boulevards. It was a wonderful area, and the style, Tyne Gothic was very nice and almost chic. It has been renovated in recent times, and looks like it did when new, except for the pawnbrokers and other modern shops now occupying the ground floors.

We walk along a narrow alley past pubs and old workshops, our guide giving us history behind the buildings. The world's fattest man lived and died here, King Charles 1st had dinner there. And so on. Until we came to Bigg Market.....

Bigg Market is where the young Geordie goes to have fun, or used to; according to our guide. It is not as popular as it once was, as many now go down to the Riverside. And Bigg Market is to be 'redeveloped'. So, this may be the last chances to see some of these fine old buildings, some of which now have demolition orders against them. All things must change. Apparently.

From Bigg Market, we walked to The Black Gate, the old main entrance to the city, then onto the New Castle, which gives the city it's name.

From the castle it was all down hill. Down the old main road into the city, the old Great North Road, which is now Pedestrian only, but cobbled, and showing how even the main roads were so very narrow.

As we walked down, the various bridges over the river tower above us, and the city huddles under their arches.

My only thought was how tough it was going to be walking back up!

2014/06/07(sat)

Asshole Carnival Vol.2

at Earthdom

ANAL VOLCANO

Mecosario (岡崎)

Retch

GO-ZEN

SAIGAN TERROR

ZENOCIDE

DJ : LOVEJUICE

2014/06/07(sat)

Asshole Carnival Vol.2

at Earthdom

ANAL VOLCANO

Mecosario (岡崎)

Retch

GO-ZEN

SAIGAN TERROR

ZENOCIDE

DJ : LOVEJUICE

Winter 2007: Boston CityScape

Experiments with my new Camera

White Balance: Correcting for Incandascent and Fluourescent Lights

North Station area

The Walkbridge to Boston Harbor and the old Bridge to Charlestown

This scene may never become a tourist destination, but when I saw it again a few days ago -- while looking for a nice vantage to shoot the Zakim Bridge -- it brought back memories when I was much younger.

Flashback:

I used to help my parents take care of our "Sari-sari" store when I was quite young. Generally, during the early afternoons when the store was not too busy, I was usually by myself or with one of my sisters. while my parents took care of other family business.

The summer that I finished my elementary, my Brother, who lived in the big city even before I was even keenly aware of my surroundings, came home to visit. Because of a great difference in age, we never really talked much but my Brother was my own hero, based from the stories my parents and our neighbors and his friends were relating about him. I did not even know if he ever noticed me, but I have always worshipped him from afar.

I was all by myself at the store that afternoon when my Brother came by. Out of the blue, he just popped the question:

"Would you like to come to the city with me?"

[In Ilocano, of course, our native tongue.]

Somehow I knew that he meant not just to visit but to go live with him in the big city. [That was how I came to view Manila at the time, a city I visited only once when I was even much younger.] I was tongue-tied but I was excited at the same time. Don't forget that before that fateful afternoon, we really never spoke to one another, although I would be there always hovering in the background whenever he was home, talking to my parents or with us as a family or with his friends.

I am not sure whether I even answered him with my voice but somehow, even if my excitement did not show physically I conveyed the message that I did want to go. Or so, I think. The only thing that had to be done was to convince my parents, especially my Mother. I was her favorite, being the only other boy among a brood of nine living children. Before this, I never went anywhere except with both or one of my parents.

I was sure at some point my Brother discussed it with my parents, because about a month before the end of that Summer, my Mother came to me and asked if that was what I wanted to do. And yes, it was, or so I conveyed mainly through body language.

My Father before accompanied a few of my Sisters when they first went to Manila, but usually only for a few days to enroll them college. My Mother seldom traveled outside of our province, except the time I was with both my parents to visit my Brother, when I was quite young.

This time, both my Father and my Mother came with me to Manila for the entire month before the end of Summer and the start of the school year. I guess they want to be assured that I was ready to commit to such a radical change in my life -- to be away from home, for good.

Everyday we went out that month to visit relatives and people we knew or just to get acquainted with the city. While my mind and spirit were willing, it seemed then my body was not as cooperative. I had a problem at the time, such that when I smelled gasoline (or what was actually added in gasoline) I emptied whatever was in my stomach. Twice each day, from the trip going to and back to my Brother's apartment. A week before the end of Summer, my Mother stated that they could not leave me behind with my Brother if I got sick everytime I took the bus. And, I would have done that everyday, to go to the school where my Brother taught, at the time.

It was of course psychological, because the moment I realized I had to make a choice, my mind persuaded my body to cooperate, and the following day, I stopped retching, for good.

The toll of separation affected my Mother more than it did me, as I learned later own. I was trying to be a brave boy, and so that in my first letter, the first of many to come, for many years since then, I indicated that I did not even felt homesick at all. It was not completely true, of course, because as much as I loved the adventure I truly missed my family and all we had back home -- especially the closeness I had with my Mother. My Father wrote to me that my Mother cried at lot when they got back home, and especially when she read my letter.

Since then, I just got to visit the village of my birth, twice each year -- during the Christmas break and Summer vacation. Sometimes, the Christmas break was even missed when I had to attend the YMCA trip to Baguio.

Whenever I went back to Manila during those trips, and even my Father always woke me up before sunrise, to be the first at the bus station.

During one of those rituals with my Father, the moon was still just barely above east casting a silvery light and deep shadows to the houses along the streets we passed by towards the bus station. I realized at the time, how beautiful and peaceful the village of my youth, the way it presented itself that early well before dawn. Before, night and shadows had always cast fear in me -- with alll the ghost stories some of my sisters made so real.

At the time, I learned to appreciate the beauty of the contrast between light and dark, especially the soft glow cast on objects, and the shadows they created.

_______

N.B.

Aside from minor cropping, and the use of "unsharp image" and the automated resizing and "screen image optimization" to reduce the diskspace usage, no further image manipulation was done.

2014/06/07(sat)

Asshole Carnival Vol.2

at Earthdom

ANAL VOLCANO

Mecosario (岡崎)

Retch

GO-ZEN

SAIGAN TERROR

ZENOCIDE

DJ : LOVEJUICE

Wednesday

A day of rain.

And a trip to Newcastle.

Hmmmm, Newcastle.

We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.

There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.

Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.

We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.

We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.

Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.

I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.

I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.

Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.

We were told of the history of the Arcade before walking to the indoor market and then down the wide street past the Theatre Royal.

In the market is the site of the first ever Marks and Spencer store, or market stall, which is still going, selling end of line items.

Wednesday

A day of rain.

And a trip to Newcastle.

Hmmmm, Newcastle.

We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.

There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.

Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.

We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.

We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.

Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.

I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.

I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.

Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.

Sounded fair to us, so we paid, and our guide explained the history of the arcade and the surrounding area, all gentrified in the 1830s, which so resembled fine Parisian boulevards. It was a wonderful area, and the style, Tyne Gothic was very nice and almost chic. It has been renovated in recent times, and looks like it did when new, except for the pawnbrokers and other modern shops now occupying the ground floors.

We walk along a narrow alley past pubs and old workshops, our guide giving us history behind the buildings. The world's fattest man lived and died here, King Charles 1st had dinner there. And so on. Until we came to Bigg Market.....

Bigg Market is where the young Geordie goes to have fun, or used to; according to our guide. It is not as popular as it once was, as many now go down to the Riverside. And Bigg Market is to be 'redeveloped'. So, this may be the last chances to see some of these fine old buildings, some of which now have demolition orders against them. All things must change. Apparently.

From Bigg Market, we walked to The Black Gate, the old main entrance to the city, then onto the New Castle, which gives the city it's name.

From the castle it was all down hill. Down the old main road into the city, the old Great North Road, which is now Pedestrian only, but cobbled, and showing how even the main roads were so very narrow.

As we walked down, the various bridges over the river tower above us, and the city huddles under their arches.

My only thought was how tough it was going to be walking back up!

OK, I collect coins so shooting coins seemed like a good target for teaching myself macro. This isn't anything fancy; it's just a 2 Euro coin (the German design) that I had in my suitcase from my recent trip to Dresden.

I like how the background turned out. It is almost entirely black, but there's a slight gradient from left to right. Not distracting. To be fair, I think black backgrounds are probably easier to pull off than the retched pink one I had in my last test shot... but even if this weren't black it still wouldn't have the post shadow—I used an elevated pane of glass to separate the post from the felt.

My lighting goal here was to accentuate both the wing feather lines as well as the horizontal lines in the outer annulus. To do this, I put the key light on the left side and used a reflector on the top. At first I tried the opposite but it left the horizontal lines over-accentuated. They're a minor design element, so while I wanted them to be visible, I wanted it to be subtle. If anything, I think I overdid the key light. I should have backed it off a bit or used a better diffuser (this shot employs the Mark II Paper Towel Diffuser™).

40D, 100mm f/2.8 Macro USM lens, Benbo 1 tripod, 150W diffused lightbulb as keylight (left) with white reflector (top). ISO 100, f/5, 0.2s. Subject is elevated ~4cm above a pane of glass, which is elevated another 10cm above black felt.

Macro 2

Wednesday

A day of rain.

And a trip to Newcastle.

Hmmmm, Newcastle.

We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.

There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.

Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.

We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.

We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.

Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.

I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.

I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.

Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.

Sounded fair to us, so we paid, and our guide explained the history of the arcade and the surrounding area, all gentrified in the 1830s, which so resembled fine Parisian boulevards. It was a wonderful area, and the style, Tyne Gothic was very nice and almost chic. It has been renovated in recent times, and looks like it did when new, except for the pawnbrokers and other modern shops now occupying the ground floors.

We were shown the indoor market, the Theatre Royal, all the time heading down towards the river. We stop at The Black Gate, the old main entrance to the city, and next to it the Norman, or New, castle. I know that from the top fine views of trains arriving and leaving from the station could be had, and so I planned to return later in the day.

We walk down the old main road, the old Great North Road, as was, now a quit pedestrianised street, leading steeply down underneath two of the 5 bridges that cross the river. More history down there; merchants houses, where wharfs unloaded good from around the world, and just beyond, the once busy river.

That was the tour, we thanked the guide, and she said that along the river we would find many places to have lunch. We walked on, coming to a modern glass and steel building, a posh eateries and bar: looking at the menu, we both decide burgers were in order. So we go in, take a table, order drinks and our meal and watch the people. It is graduation at the university, and many people are in gowns, joyful with their friends and families, out celebrating their degrees and awards.

Our burgers were good, as were the drinks; Jools has a margarita, which was OK, but strong. Once we finish, I leave Jools on a bench as I cross the blinking bridge to snap the views along the river.

Alex's Mom's Stuffed Cabbage on smittenkitchen.com

THIS is the right way.

Btw, we (oh god, even remembering it makes me want to retch...) tossed the remaining cabbage head in the garbage, still warm and the next morning when I opened the lid -- do I need to tell you? Officially the worst smell we've ever offended the Smitten Kitchen with.

The wife spent some time yesterday with one of her co-workers who is

apparently not a dog lover. Not her fault I guess, as she was raised

that way by parents who had no time for animals, either. The woman is

not necessarily anti-dog, she's just personally anti-pet and, sadly,

has a fear of dogs because of her inexperience. She apparently

screamed in terror when a black lab knocked over a water glass in

front of her.

It's hard to believe that I don't agree with her stance against

canine's in the household after the last couple of nights. Knocking

over a water glass would be a welcome occurrence. Luckily, we still

like our mutts more than the carpets in the house, even though we try

like hell to protect said carpets from said mutts. To no avail.

On Friday at 3:30am we awoke to the sound of urka gurkas, the

universal alarm to all pet owners -- though I think perfect by

Labradors -- that a spew of vomit is heading up and out, stat.

This isn't anything new. As I've written about numerous times in the

past, our eldest pup Siren has been singing us the ol' wet yodel since

she was, well, a pup. The unique part is she usually only yacks on an

empty stomach. If too empty, she just lets fly with small piles o'

bile. We used to take her for the vet for it, did barium swallows and

x-rays and tried antacids and whatever, but it doesn't matter, there's

no predicting it. I consider it her warning to us humans that feed her

and throw the all important tennis balls that we best not forget

she's there, or there will be stains.

Waking from a sound sleep to deal with dog spew is nothing new to me,

so I whipped back the sheets and got Siren out the door and headed

downstairs, gambling that I can get her out the backdoor in time.

Unfortunately, the Pooper (as she's known, for she is brown) has for

some reason developed the habit of going to the left at the bottom of

the stairs to go outside, instead of right. Even though a right turn

is a straighter shot to the door AND would take her over the linoleum

landing by our front door, she chooses left. A turn to the left puts

her right on the living room's wall to wall carpet, and that is where

she made her deposit Friday AM.

After getting her outside and cleaning up the mess, I couldn't get

back to sleep for at least an hour. It was frustrating as hell, but

once I was out I stayed that way almost right up to 9am when I'm

supposed to be working. Thank god my commute is only about 25 stairs.

That should have been it, but a few hours ago, at approximately

2:40am, more urka gurkas. This time, the wife was out of bed before me

-- usually she just exclaims and kicks me so I am the only one up, but

I made a point of pointing this fact out to her yesterday, so she must

have felt guilty. Turns out that our youngest, Kylie, was at the door

and ready to retch this time. Bon, having more of her faculties about

her, or perhaps just prepared ahead for this eventuality, pointed

Ky-Ky toward our bathroom where, arguably, she could chunderspew on

the much easier to clean vinyl floor without traveling as far. I got

up, helped push the ready to burst dog into the bath, and she let go

with some yellow/brown foam of her own. On the throw rug.

Bon took her down stairs to see if she had more solid burps while I

cleaned the carpet off. Amidst the bile pile were little bits and

pieces of plastic. Sadly, this is no surprise, as Thursday I was kind

enough to give the dogs the dregs of my crunchy peanut butter still in

the container, and Ky decided (as usual) the only way to reach the

bottom was to chew off the edges at the top for easier access.

Apparently all the plastic shrapnel I found on the floor after wasn't

everything, she had to swallow some of it.

It's so much more fun to find strange thing in their poo than in their

puke. Corn, string, cloth, dental floss, berries -- all funny on a

scoop in the back yard. Nothing much fun about warm barf, no matter

what is in it.

I told Bon all we need tonight is for Caper to hork up a big honking

plug of undigested grass (his usual esophageal ejection) tonight and

we've hit the ballistic dinner hat trick.

After throwing the rugs in the washing machine, it was back to bed,

where I tossed and turned for an hour before finally just getting up a

little after 4pm. I've been at the laptop ever since. My sleep

patterns seem to be getting stranger this year, with a few nights of

normalcy usually followed by complete sleep corruption, which wouldn't

be so bad if I could use the time while up to be productive.

If nothing else, these nightly uploads by the idiots may have ensured

me a good night's sleep tonight. I'll be keeping a strict eye on Caper

to make sure he doesn't eat more crabgrass than is good for him. Which

is none.

Professor Morte does his Chuck D while Retch does his Flava Flav.

Wednesday

A day of rain.

And a trip to Newcastle.

Hmmmm, Newcastle.

We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.

There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.

Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.

We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.

We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.

Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.

I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.

I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.

Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.

Sounded fair to us, so we paid, and our guide explained the history of the arcade and the surrounding area, all gentrified in the 1830s, which so resembled fine Parisian boulevards. It was a wonderful area, and the style, Tyne Gothic was very nice and almost chic. It has been renovated in recent times, and looks like it did when new, except for the pawnbrokers and other modern shops now occupying the ground floors.

We walk along a narrow alley past pubs and old workshops, our guide giving us history behind the buildings. The world's fattest man lived and died here, King Charles 1st had dinner there. And so on. Until we came to Bigg Market.....

Bigg Market is where the young Geordie goes to have fun, or used to; according to our guide. It is not as popular as it once was, as many now go down to the Riverside. And Bigg Market is to be 'redeveloped'. So, this may be the last chances to see some of these fine old buildings, some of which now have demolition orders against them. All things must change. Apparently.

Pumphrey's was a temperance bar, anmed after it's founder. Needless to say, despite keeping the name, it is now a wine Bar.

Balmbras is where the song, Blaydon Races' was written, a song my Grandad learned whilst in the army, and taught me when I was a child. It is to be knocked down.

We were shown the indoor market, the Theatre Royal, all the time heading down towards the river. We stop at The Black Gate, the old main entrance to the city, and next to it the Norman, or New, castle. I know that from the top fine views of trains arriving and leaving from the station could be had, and so I planned to return later in the day.

24 APR 14

It happened again! I'm at home and I'm about to go out for a Wally run, and I think I have two choices, look like crap and do a dash and grab keeping my face down so no one sees me, or put on muh face, put on some decent clothes, and look presentable like someone with at least half of some class. I chose option B, and THANK GOODNESS yet again I have listened with all my heart to the advice of Clinton and Stacey who said over the years that you can wear the same number of pieces that it takes to look put together as you can to not and to look like a mess because I ran into some old friends. I was browsing and then from three rows over across the way, I hear my name being called. I look up at there is A and I shopping for their new apartment. A, who is 6'4, ran to me again in slo motion, just like we did at the park months ago, and swung me around. He's literally I think the only one who can do this because I'm 5'9. I'm a hard one to pick up unlike those 5'2 girls whom you can put in your pocket. It felt really good too, ha! Well, instead of just do the whole, okay we saw each other move on with our days, we decided to shop together. The only thing I came to Wally for was a plate. I'm sick of just posting my food pix on white plates so I was looking for something a bit more creative, however, when I later got home, I realized this plate, though I love the color and design, is too deep for food photos. In order to get those low angles, which food shots basically are, you need a flatter surface, but this has about a 3/4 lip on it, which blocks the shots. I was bummed, however hanging out with A and I was fun. Apparently much to their chagrin their new apartment was previously owned by smokers. They had no time to see the apartment beforehand as their lease on their old was running out so they needed something fast and didn't want to rush into home buying, so the day the movers were moving in, they walked in like Oh My God, what is that smell-it's an ashtray. This would have been one of my biggest nightmares as I cannot 'do' smoke. It is the nastiest grossest thing ever. I recall being a kid and staying with my aunt in Dallas for the first time, not realizing her husband was a smoker, and I walked in and immediately I felt overwhelmingly sick. It was so bad that I ended up violently retching there for a good while. I tried my best to just inhale the smell of my scented lotions, but it was so overpowering. I remember going out to a Target and realizing much too my horror, how bad I smelled. I mean, he smoked in the car too, so the scent was like I just bathed in a hundred cigarettes---all in my hair, my clothes. I'm sure everyone around us was like, my god, what is that smell. The next visit, we got a hotel, that's for sure!!!!

Anyway---it's been a tough week, and I am trying to catch up with the uploads and editing, so it's been a really long process to try and get everything I need done and deal with myself.

Wednesday

A day of rain.

And a trip to Newcastle.

Hmmmm, Newcastle.

We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.

There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.

Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.

We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.

We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.

Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.

I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.

I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.

Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.

Sounded fair to us, so we paid, and our guide explained the history of the arcade and the surrounding area, all gentrified in the 1830s, which so resembled fine Parisian boulevards. It was a wonderful area, and the style, Tyne Gothic was very nice and almost chic. It has been renovated in recent times, and looks like it did when new, except for the pawnbrokers and other modern shops now occupying the ground floors.

We were shown the indoor market, the Theatre Royal, all the time heading down towards the river. We stop at The Black Gate, the old main entrance to the city, and next to it the Norman, or New, castle. I know that from the top fine views of trains arriving and leaving from the station could be had, and so I planned to return later in the day.

We walk down the old main road, the old Great North Road, as was, now a quit pedestrianised street, leading steeply down underneath two of the 5 bridges that cross the river. More history down there; merchants houses, where wharfs unloaded good from around the world, and just beyond, the once busy river.

That was the tour, we thanked the guide, and she said that along the river we would find many places to have lunch. We walked on, coming to a modern glass and steel building, a posh eateries and bar: looking at the menu, we both decide burgers were in order. So we go in, take a table, order drinks and our meal and watch the people. It is graduation at the university, and many people are in gowns, joyful with their friends and families, out celebrating their degrees and awards.

Our burgers were good, as were the drinks; Jools has a margarita, which was OK, but strong. Once we finish, I leave Jools on a bench as I cross the blinking bridge to snap the views along the river.

Check: sigiasso.blogspot.com/2011/05/cuba-2011-varadero-havanna-...

for some other pictures I took during my visit in Cuba.

Professor Morte does his Chuck D while Retch does his Flava Flav.

Some other drug canvases!

2014/06/07(sat)

Asshole Carnival Vol.2

at Earthdom

ANAL VOLCANO

Mecosario (岡崎)

Retch

GO-ZEN

SAIGAN TERROR

ZENOCIDE

DJ : LOVEJUICE

Ron Whelan - Brute Passion

Novel Books 5001, 1960

Cover Artist: unknown

"This book will make you retch, will make you cheer, will make you gasp. But, mister, you'll never forget Fitz, Bull and Ursula..."

Wednesday

A day of rain.

And a trip to Newcastle.

Hmmmm, Newcastle.

We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.

There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.

Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.

We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.

We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.

Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.

I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.

I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.

Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.

Sounded fair to us, so we paid, and our guide explained the history of the arcade and the surrounding area, all gentrified in the 1830s, which so resembled fine Parisian boulevards. It was a wonderful area, and the style, Tyne Gothic was very nice and almost chic. It has been renovated in recent times, and looks like it did when new, except for the pawnbrokers and other modern shops now occupying the ground floors.

We walk along a narrow alley past pubs and old workshops, our guide giving us history behind the buildings. The world's fattest man lived and died here, King Charles 1st had dinner there. And so on. Until we came to Bigg Market.....

Bigg Market is where the young Geordie goes to have fun, or used to; according to our guide. It is not as popular as it once was, as many now go down to the Riverside. And Bigg Market is to be 'redeveloped'. So, this may be the last chances to see some of these fine old buildings, some of which now have demolition orders against them. All things must change. Apparently.

From Bigg Market, we walked to The Black Gate, the old main entrance to the city, then onto the New Castle, which gives the city it's name.

From the castle it was all down hill. Down the old main road into the city, the old Great North Road, which is now Pedestrian only, but cobbled, and showing how even the main roads were so very narrow.

As we walked down, the various bridges over the river tower above us, and the city huddles under their arches.

My only thought was how tough it was going to be walking back up!

Wednesday

A day of rain.

And a trip to Newcastle.

Hmmmm, Newcastle.

We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.

There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.

Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.

We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.

We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.

Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.

I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.

I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.

Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.

Sounded fair to us, so we paid, and our guide explained the history of the arcade and the surrounding area, all gentrified in the 1830s, which so resembled fine Parisian boulevards. It was a wonderful area, and the style, Tyne Gothic was very nice and almost chic. It has been renovated in recent times, and looks like it did when new, except for the pawnbrokers and other modern shops now occupying the ground floors.

We were shown the indoor market, the Theatre Royal, all the time heading down towards the river. We stop at The Black Gate, the old main entrance to the city, and next to it the Norman, or New, castle. I know that from the top fine views of trains arriving and leaving from the station could be had, and so I planned to return later in the day.

We walk down the old main road, the old Great North Road, as was, now a quit pedestrianised street, leading steeply down underneath two of the 5 bridges that cross the river. More history down there; merchants houses, where wharfs unloaded good from around the world, and just beyond, the once busy river.

That was the tour, we thanked the guide, and she said that along the river we would find many places to have lunch. We walked on, coming to a modern glass and steel building, a posh eateries and bar: looking at the menu, we both decide burgers were in order. So we go in, take a table, order drinks and our meal and watch the people. It is graduation at the university, and many people are in gowns, joyful with their friends and families, out celebrating their degrees and awards.

Our burgers were good, as were the drinks; Jools has a margarita, which was OK, but strong. Once we finish, I leave Jools on a bench as I cross the blinking bridge to snap the views along the river.

Together with Vision "Jabba da hutt" TIC

Dunedin / NZ 2015

Wednesday

A day of rain.

And a trip to Newcastle.

Hmmmm, Newcastle.

We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.

There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.

Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.

We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.

We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.

Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.

I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.

I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.

Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.

Sounded fair to us, so we paid, and our guide explained the history of the arcade and the surrounding area, all gentrified in the 1830s, which so resembled fine Parisian boulevards. It was a wonderful area, and the style, Tyne Gothic was very nice and almost chic. It has been renovated in recent times, and looks like it did when new, except for the pawnbrokers and other modern shops now occupying the ground floors.

We walk along a narrow alley past pubs and old workshops, our guide giving us history behind the buildings. The world's fattest man lived and died here, King Charles 1st had dinner there. And so on. Until we came to Bigg Market.....

We were shown the indoor market, the Theatre Royal, all the time heading down towards the river. We stop at The Black Gate, the old main entrance to the city, and next to it the Norman, or New, castle. I know that from the top fine views of trains arriving and leaving from the station could be had, and so I planned to return later in the day.

Wednesday

A day of rain.

And a trip to Newcastle.

Hmmmm, Newcastle.

We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.

There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.

Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.

We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.

We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.

Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.

I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.

I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.

Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.

Sounded fair to us, so we paid, and our guide explained the history of the arcade and the surrounding area, all gentrified in the 1830s, which so resembled fine Parisian boulevards. It was a wonderful area, and the style, Tyne Gothic was very nice and almost chic. It has been renovated in recent times, and looks like it did when new, except for the pawnbrokers and other modern shops now occupying the ground floors.

We walk along a narrow alley past pubs and old workshops, our guide giving us history behind the buildings. The world's fattest man lived and died here, King Charles 1st had dinner there. And so on. Until we came to Bigg Market.....

Bigg Market is where the young Geordie goes to have fun, or used to; according to our guide. It is not as popular as it once was, as many now go down to the Riverside. And Bigg Market is to be 'redeveloped'. So, this may be the last chances to see some of these fine old buildings, some of which now have demolition orders against them. All things must change. Apparently.

Pumphrey's was a temperance bar, anmed after it's founder. Needless to say, despite keeping the name, it is now a wine Bar.

Balmbras is where the song, Blaydon Races' was written, a song my Grandad learned whilst in the army, and taught me when I was a child. It is to be knocked down.

We were shown the indoor market, the Theatre Royal, all the time heading down towards the river. We stop at The Black Gate, the old main entrance to the city, and next to it the Norman, or New, castle. I know that from the top fine views of trains arriving and leaving from the station could be had, and so I planned to return later in the day.

I don't remember the exact circumstances for my college friend and fellow college engineering magazine staffer to pretend to retch into a waste basket, but here it is. I think it was to accompany one of his regular articles in the 49er Engineer Magazine, the column he entitled Ad Nauseam.

North West London.

Saturday December 1st 2007

Get on at Lochend, Findlay Gardens, 12.37pm.

Next to the remains of the Eastern General Hospital, which lies in mounds of rubble. Bus is single-deck and sit near back, heating is on strong and smells slightly of chlorine. Clouds are moving quickly and going from grey to blue. Past Restalrig towerblocks and a paved garden with grass through every crack. YLS. Past Easter Road stadium and can see down to Leith covered in grey. A man with a diamond patterned jumper. A torched bin. Onto Leith Walk and diverted up, past windows in Shrubhill that look like they've been stained with petrol. Someone coughs and coughs and it turns into a retch. Fake sunflowers in the window of the firestation. A bald man with aviator sunglasses gets on and smiles. A girl with braids sticking in every direction walking past the water treatment works, two posh looking women both with jet black dyed hair. Up past Tesco and a Christmas tree shop with netted trees and a big plastic Santa looking down at the road. Sunlight hitting the New Town and living room walls hung with large paintings. Water lies between the cobbles and vibrates as the bus waits at lights. George Street packed with shoppers, queues to get into cafes. The black-haired women leave. The ferris wheel turns quickly, the church on Princes Street says it's INTER-FAITH WEEK. Another bus pulls up alongside with two girls standing holding shopping bags with drawn outlines of girls faces on, pink lipstick. The closed doors of a church hall. Go down past the galleries and sunlight patches moving through branches, turn left. More clouds, netted windows, the brakes whistle. One streetlamp on at the end of a tree-lined path. An aeroplane. A woman puts on her gloves. Private school. Goes down March Road.

Two people left, change seats.

Wednesday

A day of rain.

And a trip to Newcastle.

Hmmmm, Newcastle.

We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.

There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.

Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.

We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.

We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.

Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.

I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.

I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.

Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.

Sounded fair to us, so we paid, and our guide explained the history of the arcade and the surrounding area, all gentrified in the 1830s, which so resembled fine Parisian boulevards. It was a wonderful area, and the style, Tyne Gothic was very nice and almost chic. It has been renovated in recent times, and looks like it did when new, except for the pawnbrokers and other modern shops now occupying the ground floors.

We were shown the indoor market, the Theatre Royal, all the time heading down towards the river. We stop at The Black Gate, the old main entrance to the city, and next to it the Norman, or New, castle. I know that from the top fine views of trains arriving and leaving from the station could be had, and so I planned to return later in the day.

We walk down the old main road, the old Great North Road, as was, now a quit pedestrianised street, leading steeply down underneath two of the 5 bridges that cross the river. More history down there; merchants houses, where wharfs unloaded good from around the world, and just beyond, the once busy river.

That was the tour, we thanked the guide, and she said that along the river we would find many places to have lunch. We walked on, coming to a modern glass and steel building, a posh eateries and bar: looking at the menu, we both decide burgers were in order. So we go in, take a table, order drinks and our meal and watch the people. It is graduation at the university, and many people are in gowns, joyful with their friends and families, out celebrating their degrees and awards.

Our burgers were good, as were the drinks; Jools has a margarita, which was OK, but strong. Once we finish, I leave Jools on a bench as I cross the blinking bridge to snap the views along the river.

Wednesday

A day of rain.

And a trip to Newcastle.

Hmmmm, Newcastle.

We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.

There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.

Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.

We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.

We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.

Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.

I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.

I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.

Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.

Sounded fair to us, so we paid, and our guide explained the history of the arcade and the surrounding area, all gentrified in the 1830s, which so resembled fine Parisian boulevards. It was a wonderful area, and the style, Tyne Gothic was very nice and almost chic. It has been renovated in recent times, and looks like it did when new, except for the pawnbrokers and other modern shops now occupying the ground floors.

We walk along a narrow alley past pubs and old workshops, our guide giving us history behind the buildings. The world's fattest man lived and died here, King Charles 1st had dinner there. And so on. Until we came to Bigg Market.....

Bigg Market is where the young Geordie goes to have fun, or used to; according to our guide. It is not as popular as it once was, as many now go down to the Riverside. And Bigg Market is to be 'redeveloped'. So, this may be the last chances to see some of these fine old buildings, some of which now have demolition orders against them. All things must change. Apparently.

From Bigg Market, we walked to The Black Gate, the old main entrance to the city, then onto the New Castle, which gives the city it's name.

From the castle it was all down hill. Down the old main road into the city, the old Great North Road, which is now Pedestrian only, but cobbled, and showing how even the main roads were so very narrow.

As we walked down, the various bridges over the river tower above us, and the city huddles under their arches.

My only thought was how tough it was going to be walking back up!

2014/06/07(sat)

Asshole Carnival Vol.2

at Earthdom

ANAL VOLCANO

Mecosario (岡崎)

Retch

GO-ZEN

SAIGAN TERROR

ZENOCIDE

DJ : LOVEJUICE

Wednesday

A day of rain.

And a trip to Newcastle.

Hmmmm, Newcastle.

We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.

There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.

Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.

We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.

We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.

Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.

I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.

I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.

Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.

Sounded fair to us, so we paid, and our guide explained the history of the arcade and the surrounding area, all gentrified in the 1830s, which so resembled fine Parisian boulevards. It was a wonderful area, and the style, Tyne Gothic was very nice and almost chic. It has been renovated in recent times, and looks like it did when new, except for the pawnbrokers and other modern shops now occupying the ground floors.

We walk along a narrow alley past pubs and old workshops, our guide giving us history behind the buildings. The world's fattest man lived and died here, King Charles 1st had dinner there. And so on. Until we came to Bigg Market.....

We were shown the indoor market, the Theatre Royal, all the time heading down towards the river. We stop at The Black Gate, the old main entrance to the city, and next to it the Norman, or New, castle. I know that from the top fine views of trains arriving and leaving from the station could be had, and so I planned to return later in the day.

" its been three days since i first ran into those retched droids. i have never seen so many of them, ive taken out a few of them but i fear that that will just provoke them. i have to be quick and find that base or the invasion will be a massacre. Ive decided to leave my backpack, helmet, pauldron, and rifle behind in a cave while i scout around for this base. its a huge risk but it might be my only chance".

im sorry i haven't uploaded for a couple of days, ive been really busy with building my moc and making a couple of customs.

Lausanne, Switzerland

Yes, Nancy looks happy and calm. Earlier that day, however, Nancy and I were kicked out of another campground. Why? We spent the previous afternoon drinking far too much cheap, sweet wine. We then spent much of the night retching, very loudly, on the ground right outside our tent. Even if we hadn't been kicked out, and even if we hadn't scuttled out in embarassement, we would have left that other campsite because it reeked something awful!

My life fucked from asshole to eternity

My life tied up in zillion knots.

Forget the poems I wrote or the fucked

Pictures I shot but my drinking retching

Days at Yacht I never forgot..

A Quarter of rum old monk shot after shot

Some cheap moong dal as chakhna to which Kassim added onion and chillies hot

To make me a fucked compulsive drinker

Was this part of my trial tribulations was this Gods cosmic plot.. On the soul of my Shia family my wife children I was a shameful blot.. My testicular fortitude by the genie in the booze bottle my balls were caught.. I began to get rancid morbid rot.

And one day the genie let me free immediately on the spot.. He made me sign a testimonial that I would no more drink on the dot.

18 years now a black sugarless tea drinker I come to pay my homage outside the doorsteps of Yacht .

I bow my head in reverence recite a Fatiah for my friends who died drinking till the end.. And the world forgot..

Pure? What does it mean?

The tongues of hell

Are dull, dull as the triple

Tongues of dull, fat Cerebus

Who wheezes at the gate. Incapable

Of licking clean

The aguey tendon, the sin, the sin.

The tinder cries.

The indelible smell

Of a snuffed candle!

Love, love, the low smokes roll

From me like Isadora's scarves, I'm in a fright

One scarf will catch and anchor in the wheel.

Such yellow sullen smokes

Make their own element. They will not rise,

But trundle round the globe

Choking the aged and the meek,

The weak

Hothouse baby in its crib,

The ghastly orchid

Hanging its hanging garden in the air,

Devilish leopard!

Radiation turned it white

And killed it in an hour.

Greasing the bodies of adulterers

Like Hiroshima ash and eating in.

The sin. The sin.

Darling, all night

I have been flickering, off, on, off, on.

The sheets grow heavy as a lecher's kiss.

Three days. Three nights.

Lemon water, chicken

Water, water make me retch.

I am too pure for you or anyone.

Your body

Hurts me as the world hurts God. I am a lantern ----

My head a moon

Of Japanese paper, my gold beaten skin

Infinitely delicate and infinitely expensive.

Does not my heat astound you. And my light.

All by myself I am a huge camellia

Glowing and coming and going, flush on flush.

I think I am going up,

I think I may rise ----

The beads of hot metal fly, and I, love, I

Am a pure acetylene

Virgin

Attended by roses,

By kisses, by cherubim,

By whatever these pink things mean.

Not you, nor him.

Not him, nor him

(My selves dissolving, old whore petticoats) ----

To Paradise.

The finish, 10:30pm. Matt and I were on track to finish at 8-9pm, or 16-17 hours after we started. But when we got to Cottonwood Campground, we found two girls from our group and one was really sick and had bad blisters. I gave her my extra pair of socks and we plied her with ginger, tums, and HEED. We walked with them the 5 or 6 miles home. Every few minutes the sick girl would stop and retch. She was miserable. Her friend carried her pack and Matt gave her his trekking poles. It grew dark, and we walked for hours up the trail with crickets talking loudly and the stars shining. We told stories. It was not a bad way to spend the evening.

As we got closer to the north rim, we encountered several groups of people who were out looking to rescue their friends. We passed one group with some people in rough shape (they had healthy people with them, were well supplied, and refused our help). Indeed, we were in a group with someone needing rescue. I was surprised at the number of medical dramas we encountered just in the last two hours on the trail and was grateful that I had completed the route feeling strong.

Half a mile from the top, our sick friend finally vomited successfully and was instantly cured. She started hiking vigorously, talking, and laughing. It was pretty cool. When in doubt, barf to reboot. So we all finished strong and happy. We took a quick photo then piled into my car to drive back to the campground, where we sat around the fire and I ate the best bowl of chili ever.

Oh and the new shoes? Not one blister.

The stats: 18.5 hours, 48 miles, ~12,000ft of elevation gain.

2014/06/07(sat)

Asshole Carnival Vol.2

at Earthdom

ANAL VOLCANO

Mecosario (岡崎)

Retch

GO-ZEN

SAIGAN TERROR

ZENOCIDE

DJ : LOVEJUICE

Wednesday

A day of rain.

And a trip to Newcastle.

Hmmmm, Newcastle.

We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.

There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.

Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.

We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.

We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.

Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.

I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.

I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.

Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.

Sounded fair to us, so we paid, and our guide explained the history of the arcade and the surrounding area, all gentrified in the 1830s, which so resembled fine Parisian boulevards. It was a wonderful area, and the style, Tyne Gothic was very nice and almost chic. It has been renovated in recent times, and looks like it did when new, except for the pawnbrokers and other modern shops now occupying the ground floors.

We walk along a narrow alley past pubs and old workshops, our guide giving us history behind the buildings. The world's fattest man lived and died here, King Charles 1st had dinner there. And so on. Until we came to Bigg Market.....

We were shown the indoor market, the Theatre Royal, all the time heading down towards the river. We stop at The Black Gate, the old main entrance to the city, and next to it the Norman, or New, castle. I know that from the top fine views of trains arriving and leaving from the station could be had, and so I planned to return later in the day.

But that is just how the Dark Side rolls

2014/06/07(sat)

Asshole Carnival Vol.2

at Earthdom

ANAL VOLCANO

Mecosario (岡崎)

Retch

GO-ZEN

SAIGAN TERROR

ZENOCIDE

DJ : LOVEJUICE

2014/06/07(sat)

Asshole Carnival Vol.2

at Earthdom

ANAL VOLCANO

Mecosario (岡崎)

Retch

GO-ZEN

SAIGAN TERROR

ZENOCIDE

DJ : LOVEJUICE

2014/06/07(sat)

Asshole Carnival Vol.2

at Earthdom

ANAL VOLCANO

Mecosario (岡崎)

Retch

GO-ZEN

SAIGAN TERROR

ZENOCIDE

DJ : LOVEJUICE

caitlyn

inspired by natalie kucken

straight out of camera

WELL I'M GLAD WE DIDN'T EAT THIS

The eating of limited quantities of poke, perhaps of the shoots, may cause retching or vomiting after two hours or more. These signs may be followed by dyspnea, perspiration, spasms, severe purging, prostration, tremors, watery diarrhea and vomiting (sometimes bloody) and, sometimes, convulsions. In severe poisonings, symptoms are weakness, excessive yawning, slowed breathing, fast heartbeat, dizziness, and possibly seizures, coma and death.

Wednesday

A day of rain.

And a trip to Newcastle.

Hmmmm, Newcastle.

We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.

There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.

Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.

We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.

We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.

Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.

I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.

I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.

Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.

"It's snowing down South"... no, that's not right.... "It's muddy Down Under?"

Wednesday

A day of rain.

And a trip to Newcastle.

Hmmmm, Newcastle.

We woke up at half seven, outside it was overcast with the promise of much rain through the day. We planned to go to Hexham to catch the train into the city, wander round, have lunch, take shots and come back. And it still sounded a good idea in the morning. So, after breakfast, we gathered our stuff, our new waterproof jackets and walking boots, packed the car and set off down the valley to Hexham.

There is an even more local station nearer the cottage, but only has a two-hourly service through the day. A 15 minute drive to Hexham opens the possibility of half hourly trains, if we got bored in the city.

Two pounds to park the car all day outside the station, seven quid for a return ticket. A cheap day it seemed.

We had timed it just right, and 5 minutes after arriving, our train, a class 156, pulled up and we all got on for the half hour trundle into town. The line runs beside the river Tyne, and is very picturesque, even from a rattly diesel DMU.

We pulled into Newcastle, over Stephenson’s high level bridge, with glorious views over the river and city. It had just begun to rain, but we were prepared.

Outside the station, we looked up the wide street in front, and I saw a memorial, which should mean there was a square, maybe the centre of the city, so we set off, dodging shoppers and waiting bus passengers. However, we were thirsty. And hungry. And seeing an Italian ice cream parlour, we go inside to have breakfast.

I order sausage roll and a coffee: Jools has quiche. And a coffee. Now, that we did not specify what kind of coffee we wanted should have meant we got a cup of filter. Or so we thought. But what we did get was a cup of milky coffee, the kind that my parents used to drink, made with almost all hot milk, and horrible.

I tried to tell myself this was some kind of retro food experience, but my main thought was to drink it as soon as possible before a skin formed on the top, which would have made me retch.

Further up the street, we saw a sign saying ‘central arcade’; we thought it looked interesting and went in. Just as well we did, as inside it was decorated with splendid tiles, in a fine art deco fashion. In admiring them, we caught the attention of a woman, who engaged us in conversation. Turns out she was a guide, and for four pounds each would take us on a 90 minute tour round the city.

Sounded fair to us, so we paid, and our guide explained the history of the arcade and the surrounding area, all gentrified in the 1830s, which so resembled fine Parisian boulevards. It was a wonderful area, and the style, Tyne Gothic was very nice and almost chic. It has been renovated in recent times, and looks like it did when new, except for the pawnbrokers and other modern shops now occupying the ground floors.

We walk along a narrow alley past pubs and old workshops, our guide giving us history behind the buildings. The world's fattest man lived and died here, King Charles 1st had dinner there. And so on. Until we came to Bigg Market.....

Bigg Market is where the young Geordie goes to have fun, or used to; according to our guide. It is not as popular as it once was, as many now go down to the Riverside. And Bigg Market is to be 'redeveloped'. So, this may be the last chances to see some of these fine old buildings, some of which now have demolition orders against them. All things must change. Apparently.

From Bigg Market, we walked to The Black Gate, the old main entrance to the city, then onto the New Castle, which gives the city it's name.