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Believed to have been established in the 7th or 6th century BC, Pompeii was buried by the eruption of Vesuvius in 79 AD.
Pompeii remained mostly untouched until 1748, when excavations began to reveal many buildings and paintings and frescoes still intact.
The stepping stones in the middle of the street were crossing stones so that pedestrians would not have to step in rainwater or manure from the animals that would draw the carts.
Everyone have a great Monday and week ahead.
College students return today and I hope they are all happy and healthy!
The Bodie Classroom was for all grades and they kept warm in their harsh winters by that wood burning stove you see on the left and below here.
Happy Sunday, and a great new week to all.
All of my images are under protection of all applicable copyright laws. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from myself is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to dK.i Photography and Edward Kreis with appropriate and specific direction to the original content (website). I can be contacted through the contact link provided on this website.
In the meantime, please visit my page @ edward-kreis.artistwebsites.com
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A Black-Headed Gull pausing to reflect in Oslo's St. Hanshaugen Park.
"The Black-headed Gull (Chroicocephalus ridibundus) is a small gull which breeds in much of Europe and Asia, and also in coastal eastern Canada. Most of the population is migratory, wintering further south, but some birds in the milder westernmost areas of Europe are resident. Some birds will also spend the winter in northeastern North America, where it was formerly known as the Common Black-headed Gull. As is the case with many gulls, it had previously been placed in the genus Larus. This gull is 38–44 cm (15-17½ in) long with a 94–105 cm (37–41 in) wingspan. In flight, the white leading edge to the wing is a good field mark. The summer adult has a chocolate-brown head (not black, although does look black from a distance), pale grey body, black tips to the primary wing feathers, and red bill and legs. The hood is lost in winter, leaving just 2 dark spots. It breeds in colonies in large reedbeds or marshes, or on islands in lakes, nesting on the ground. Like most gulls, it is highly gregarious in winter, both when feeding or in evening roosts. It is not a pelagic species and is rarely seen at sea far from coasts. The Black-headed Gull is a bold and opportunistic feeder and will eat insects, fish, seeds, worms, scraps and carrion in towns, or take invertebrates in ploughed fields with equal relish. This is a noisy species, especially in colonies, with a familiar "kree-ar" call. Its scientific name means "laughing gull"." (Wikipedia)
Camera: Olympus OM-D E-M5
Lens: Olympus M.Zuiko 40-150mm f/4.0-5.6
150mm (300mm full frame FOV), ISO 1600, f/6.3, 1/125 sec., single RAW file, Tiffen circular polarizer, hand held.
Thanks for stopping by!
Visit to Disneyland Resort, on February 16, 2014.
Visited the World of Disney Store, and bought some key chains and pins, mostly new Tinker Bell issues. They have finally restocked the Frozen Booster Pin Set after a couple of months but I didn't see the Frozen Princess Jewel (Snowflake) Pin there. The Frozen merchandise section had Mattel Anna dolls for sale, but were all out of Mattel Elsa dolls that they had last week. No Disney Store Frozen dolls at all. They finally had the Animators' Tinker Bell doll for sale. No Pirate Fairy dolls for sale except for the mini doll set.
Then in the Emporium on Main Street, I saw the Frozen Snowflake Pin. It was actually behind glass, in a display with limited edition pins, even though the Frozen pin is open edition. I was glad to see it, nevertheless.
I went to my favorite ride, the Buzz Lightyear Astro Blasters, and got a good score even though my aim was off today. It was #4 high score of the day, at 1,242,900. In the LGM Command Store, I saw that they had a good supply of both the Frozen Booster Pin Set and the Frozen Snowflake pin. The latter was out in the What's New section, under a row of Tinker Bell pins.
Afterward, I ate lunch at Plaza Inn, while I browsed Flickr. I laid out my pins so I could inspect them and take a quick photo. The flower vase on the table had the usual pink carnation, and also a cute little pink heart left over from Valentine's Day.
Valley Forge, Pennsylvania is best known as the home to General George Washington's Continental Army for the winters of 1777-1778. Back in those days, large scale combat wasn't conducted during the winter since snow and cold weather presented a logistical nightmare so armies would build up large camps where they could spend the winter. Despite popular belief, the winters during these years weren't especially harsh (the belief that they were is mostly due to America's romanticism of this period). The winters however were full of disease which plagued the troops who were in extremely close proximity to one another. During those two winters at Valley Forge, the Continental Army trained and became an even stronger unit.
I had visited Valley Forge once before (shortly after I graduated high school) but for some reason didn't remember it well. Walking around the park in the summer's high heat and ridiculous humidity was worth it. It's a beautiful place that's fully of amazing history.
ABOUT THE SERIES
In June 2010 Michelle and I traveled to Philadelphia (and surrounding areas) for a summer vacation and to visit her extended family. I'd been to Philadelphia twice before, once in eighth grade and once during college but I only remember bits and pieces of each previous trip. The trip during college was during the 2010 Republican National Convention (I wasn't there for the convention) and I remember the entire city resembling a police state with police everywhere due to all the protests.
Anyway, it was great to return to the city and see some of the surrounding areas I hadn't explored before. We visited during a heatwave (90 degree heat with intense humidity which apparently is a little unusual in June but typical in August) but it was well worth the trip.
Went over to Liverpool Street at lunch today, trying to get a photo for work, but couldn't find the thing I was looking for. I did however buy a nice scarf in the sale in Accessorise, and found this new building thingy going up at the edge of Broadgate Circle. Also phoned my Mum, who was sounding OK, though a bit flat bless her.
Busy day at work, with my annual catch-up with the boss, a meeting with a colleague about a presentation we're putting together, and a catch-up with my manager. Got some work done in there somewhere too.
Tim was still off sick today, but ended up having to log in and work this afternoon. Think he's mostly on the mend. Baked potatoes for tea will have helped, I'm sure :)
Painted in 1997 with Monk and I Believe Spel too. Freestyle at the Bomb Shelter. I had to use up some colors that I really wasn't using in my stash of paint and so I decided to challenge myself by bringing as many wak colors as I could to the wall. That is where I came up with the concept of a different fill, outline and 3D. It wasn't the greatest representation of that style but at the time, doing a style like that was pretty innovative. I remember walking out of the wall spot and being stopped by one of the local writers coming up and he asked me, "What type of drugs are you on?". I took that as a compliment because I believe he was hoping to score some of whatever it was that made me do the funky ass shit that I was doing at that time. You know one thing about me is that I get real bored with the same piece over and over and am always trying to do something a little or a lot different from the last. That is one reason why I always tend to freestyle, so I don't have any memory of other stuff that I was drawing up and get caught up in repeating patterns in my letters. Although, over time, I have learned some things that make my pieces, what some would classify, as EROS style. Arrows, loops, highlights, leaned back R, etc....... It's almost impossible to recreate the wheel but we all have a set of mental standards that we follow. Those that paint without rules, I take my hat off to. It's just something that I haven't been able to truly get past. Especially, the solid letter stucture part.
On Vacation to The USA - Staying in L.A. There were some nice view-points to view some amazing 'Golden' sunsets.
Shot with Sony a7s, and Sony E PZ 18-105mm f/4 G OSS
Location: Los Angeles, CA
Shot @ 103mm - f4.5 - 1/1000sec - ISO 320
For some reason I always had a bit of an affinity towards these cars, largely due to the fact that they seemed to be smiling with those light clusters. But much like the Maestro, it had purpose, it was innovative, and it was a car that refused to die!
The Austin Montego first started development life way back in 1977 under project code LC10 (Leyland Cars 10), as an intended replacement for the Morris Marina and the Princess. However, like many of the company's promising projects, such as the Maestro and the Metro, it was shelved for years on account of the fact that British Leyland ran out of money! After a corporate bailout by the British Government, the company chose instead to prolong the development of these cars and instead simply give the existing Marina and Princess a facelift, resulting in the Morris Ital and Austin Ambassador, both cars notable for being unimpressively bland masterpieces.
However, this delay did give British Leyland a chance to tie up with Honda, and in 1980 launched the Triumph Acclaim as both the first Japanese/British hybrid car, but also British Leyland's first consistently reliable product! The result was that both the simultaneously developed Austin Maestro and Montego could take some leaves out of Honda's book and therefore improve the reliability. Styling came from David Bache, who had previously had a hand in penning the Rover P4, the Rover SD1 and the Range Rover, and Roy Axe, who would later go on to style the Rover 800 and the Rolls Royce Silver Seraph. The lengthy development time of the car however clearly showed as the first sketches of the car were done back in 1975. Apparently when Roy Axe, who took over as Director of Design in 1982, saw the first prototype with the original design, he was so horrified that he suggested they scrap the whole thing and start over!
However, their combined design talent truly shows through with the Montego as in essence these are very handsome cars, with a long smooth body, a pleasing frontal alignment and design, and internally very capable and comfortable. Some novel features included were the colour coordinated bumpers that matched the rest of the car, and the wiper spindles hiding under the bonnet when parked.
Although many consider the Maestro just to be a hatchback version of the Montego, there were many features the Montego had that made it an all around better car. These included a new S-Series engine in place of the A-Series engine that dated back to the 1950's, and a more practical and robust dashboard. Variations of the car included the stylish and luxury Vanden Plas, which was styled internally by the world renowned coachbuilder with lavish wood veneer and seating (thankfully not given a chrome nose, that would have been insane!), the sporty MG Montego which featured a higher performance O-Series Turob Engine and a revolutionary synthesised computer voice that announced problems and warnings, and finally the Estate versions which were by far the most popular and received almost unanimous acclaim for their spacious interior.
The Montego was launched on April 25th 1984, being available at first as a 4-door saloon to replace the standard Morris Ital, but the Ital in estate form continued on until August, bringing an end to the 11 year old Morris Marina family. In October the Estate version was launched at the British International Motor Show. Initially things were looking up for the Montego, as mentioned the Estate version was lauded for its practicality, the MG Montego became the fastest MG ever built with 115hp to rocket it up to a top speed of 126mph at a rate of 0-60 in 7.1 seconds, and the Vanden Plas was a modest success for the business executive, as well as finding a home in the company car market.
Promotion for the car also helped to seal the deal with a fantastically choreographed advert where professional stunt driver Russ Swift, pretty much danced around a crowded car park in a Montego, doing reverse 180's in gaps only a few feet wide, and driving the car on two wheels through a gap only a ruler's length apart! Jeremy Clarkson would attempt to do the same thing 14 years later on one of his DVD's in another Montego, again with the help of Russ Swift, which went well the first time, but not so well the second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth or seventh time. Eventually the Montego was smashed in half by a large truck in a fiery explosion.
Sadly though, the honeymoon like with all good British Leyland cars was short lived, and soon afterwards the various faults and build quality problems became once again apparent. Although many of the features fitted to these cars such as the synthesised voice, the computer engine management and the redesigned dashboard were endearing, the main fault that these cars had were in the electrics, which would frequently go wrong. Some examples I've heard from early Montego owners have included the car failing to start, pressing the indicator switch only to blow the horn, or the synthesised talking lady never, ever, ever shutting up! Because of these problems the cars built up a very quick and poor reputation, added to by the poor construction of the actual car, with the colour coded bumpers being particularly problematic as they'd crack in cold weather.
But British Leyland didn't give up on the Montego, and in the background designers continued to tinker with the idea of further additions and changes to the car. Throughout the period following its introduction, British Leyland began to be broken up by the Thatcher Government, with Jaguar being made independent, the various parts manufacturers such as UNIPART being sold off, Leyland Trucks and Buses being sold to Volvo and DAF, and eventually the whole outfit being reduced to just MG and Rover. The Montego has been credited with being the last car to carry the Austin name, the badge being dropped in 1988 with future cars simply being dubbed the Montego. This coincided with a facelift in 1989 and the re-engineering of the car to be fitted with a Perkins Diesel. In 1989 a new seven-seater estate model was created called the Montego Countryman, built to combat the rising trend of People-Carriers such as the Renault Espace, but still being able to perform as well as a regular car. This, much like the original estate, proved immensely popular, especially in France for some reason, which went on to be one of the Montego's major markets.
In the early 90's the Montego did start getting back some reputation, winning the CAR Magazine's 'Giant Test' (all technical names I'm sure) when competing against the likes of the Citroen BX and the Audi 80. In fact the Rover Montego Turbo became a favourite with the RAF, and was used to whisk Officers across airfields as a personal transport. The Montego may have failed to outdo the Volkswagen Passat, but as for the British mob such as the Ford Sierra and the Vauxhall Cavalier, it was able competition. In fact when I was young in the 90's a lot of kids I'd see dropped off to school would be in then new Montego's because by this point the reliability issues had been ironed out following Rover Group's return to private ownership under British Aerospace.
But by 1992 the car was very much looking its age and was in desperate need of a replacement. In 1993 the Rover 600 was launched which pretty much ended the Montego for mass-production then and there, but special orders for the car continued until 1995. The machines continued to be a favourite among Company Car firms, and a lot of the developments made in the Montego lived on in later Rover cars, primarily the 600 and the 75, which inherited its rear suspension which was often held in high regard. But the curtain did eventually fall for the official Montego production in 1995 as new owners BMW desired nothing more than to be out with the old and in with the new, with facelifts all around including a new Rover 25 to replace the 200, a new Rover 45 to replace the 400, and a new Rover 75 to replace the 800, and the original Range Rover was revamped into the absolutely magnificent Range Rover P38 in 1995. The Maestro too was axed and the Metro followed not long afterwards in 1999, with the classic Mini being killed off in 2000, only to be brought back to life the same year under BMW management after the breakup of Rover that year.
But like the Maestro, the Montego simply wouldn't die, but unlike the Maestro, attempts to revive the car under bootlegged brands weren't as prosperous. In India, the company Sipani Automobiles, notable for attempting to recreate British cars such as the Reliant Kitten but instead consistently turning out garbage, attempted to built a few, but folded soon afterwards. In Trinidad & Tobago, a small firm attempted to sell their own copycat versions of the Montego, which were notable for their exceptional poor quality. But most famously was the attempt to recreate the car in China with the Lubao CA 6410, which yoked the nose of a Montego onto the back of a Maestro using a Maestro platform. Today that car is technically still in production as the Jiefang CA 6440 UA Van, but owes more to the Maestro than the Montego.
Today the Montego is a very rare car to find. Of the 571,000 cars built, only 296 remain, making it Britain's 8th most scrapped car. Contributing to this, areas of the bodywork that were to be covered by plastic trim (such as the front and rear bumpers) were left unpainted and thus unprotected. In addition, pre-1989 models cannot run on unleaded petrol without the cylinder head being converted or needing fuel additives.
However, as mentioned, the Montego estate was a huge hit in France, and chances are you'll find a fair number ambling about the countryside there. Malta too was another popular locale for the Montego, as well as many other British Leyland cars, including Marina's, Allegros and even Princesses!
My opinion on the Montego? Like most British Leyland cars it had prospects and purpose, but lacked the desire to build good, honest cars. It was comfortable, it was handsome, it performed as well as a family saloon car should, it was spacious and very well equipped, and like many British Leyland cars, such as the Princess with its Hydragas suspension, it was innovative. If these cars had been built better and had some of the teething problems ironed out with the electrical systems, then British Leyland could have easily gone on to make the family car of the 1980's. But like all pathfinders in the world of technology, they will suffer the full brunt of the problems they are most likely to experience.
People rarely remember the originals, only the one's that perfected it...
Saggart is one of two termini for the Luas Red Line. The other terminus is Tallaght. The line provides a direct link to Dublin city with a journey duration of 45 minutes. 40 years or more have passed since I last visited Saggart so this morning I thought that it might be a good idea to visit the village. To say that the tram stop is in Saggart is a slight exaggeration. The Luas Line A1 Citywest extension terminus from Belgard to Saggart is actually about ten minutes walk away from the centre of the village.
I must admit that I found the village to be ugly and unattractive and that really surprised me. There were many unoccupied unattractive modern buildings and lots of dust … the sort that one sees at unfinished building sites.
To be different
If visions are not
The same
why to blame?
To think different
doesn’t mean being wrong.
To be influenced
or not to go along,
is a free choice
listening to your own voice.
“To Be Free “
The code of liberty.
To differ,
doesn’t mean being wrong.
It’s your right
To have a choice .
Saying yes or no
In your own voice
Do what you think
and think what you do.
Think of you,
and others too.
To be different
doesn’t mean being wrong.
You do not have to go along.
It’s a free voice
saying yes or no,
your own choice.
If a man is not white
Is he less all right?
If a man is not black
Does anything lack?
To be respected
for WHO you are,
not WHAT you are
to be expected
Being different
doesn’t mean being wrong.
You do not have to always go along.
You do not have to lead,
you do not have to follow...
Follow but you heart !
Follow the difference,
the difference to be:
To know what is right,
to what is not wrong,
to go with along...
Copyright written by:
M v.d B 1994
All Rights Reserved ©
I've always seen ducks floating along on lakes, looking very peaceful. I had no idea what happened to them during breeding season, though. Sure, we've all seen the wildlife videos of male animals fighting to win mating rights to the females, but somehow, when it's a fight between ducks, it just doesn't seem like it would be much of anything. Boy, was I ever wrong!
These two male Muscovy ducks could be seen and heard all the way across the lake, and it's pretty big. The females were watching from shore as they battled it out. By the time I got close, the smaller of the ducks was desperately trying to get away from the larger, but the big duck was ruthless and almost drowned him twice as I was photographing the scene. The violence of it was shocking to me, and even after the weaker duck was completely subdued and dragging itself onshore, the other male was attacking with ferocity. This was shot just before the two made it ashore.
Both I and another lady tried to help the injured duck, but it wouldn't allow us to touch it. It had a broken leg, was bitten up all over, and was shaking in pain. It was pretty hard to watch, but nothing more than the way nature guarantees that the new flock of ducklings will be strong, like their father, not weak like the victim of the attack.
In the end, I had to walk away, unable to do anything, and very upset. The larger duck went back after the victim as soon as I left, so I have no doubt in my mind that he died from his injuries. Yes, nature can be cruel.
.... Pachi was the name of the mascot of the 2015 Pan American Games. The choice of mascot, whose design was based on that of a porcupine, an animal found in all 41 countries competing at the Games. There are 41 stylized conical spines on Pachi's back: one for every country participating in the Games. The spines are one of five colours, each of the five representing a quality the Games are said to endorse: youth, passion, collaboration, determination, and creativity.
Obverse: Head of deified Alexander to right with horn of Ammon and fillet in hair. Reverse: Athena, seated left holding Nike on extended right hand, left arm leaning on shield. (see media screen for Greek inscriptions)
Credit Line
Anonymous gift in memory of Zoë Wilbour (1864–1885)
Greek, Hellenistic Period, After 281 B.C.
Mint
Uncertain, Thrace (Kingdom)
Catalogue Raisonné
Brett, Greek Coins (MFA), no. 0840.
Dimensions
Diameter: 19 mm. Weight: 8.47 gm.
Accession Number
35.117
Medium or Technique
Gold
Passage to sunrise
Photographer Khalid Almasoud © All rights reserved
Passage to sunrise, before the appearance of the sun, with the formation of clouds, and glare on the horizon, gave a wonderful spread of light, on the rocks, and on the surface of the sea.This waterway is located south of Kuwait.
ممر الى الشروق قبل ظهور الشمس ، مع تشكيل الغيوم ، والوهج على الافق ، اعطى انتشار ضوئي رائع ، على الصخور ، وعلى سطح البحر. يوجد هذا الممر البحري جنوب الكويت
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خلفية سوداء لرؤية أفضل
Large size in lightbox : www.flickr.com/photos/khalid-almasoud/8578910010/in/photo...
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Exif data اعدادات الصورة
الكاميرا Camera Pentax K-01
سرعة الشتر - الغالق - Exposure 4
فتحة العدسة Aperture f/22.0
المدى Focal Length 10 mm - Sigma 10mm-20mm f/3.5 EX DC HSM AF
حساسية الضوء ISO Speed 100
برنامج التعرض Exposure Program Shutter speed priority AE
وضع التعرض Exposure Mode Manual
انحياز التعريض Exposure Bias -1.3 EV
اليوم والوقت Date and Time : 2013:02:20 06:10:04 +03:00
ملاحظة Noting : .....
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My Gallery site in : 500px.com/KAlmasoud
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If you want to purchasing any of my pictures, please contact me : almasoud70@gmail.com
لطلب شراء أي صورة من معرضي , يرجى التواصل على الايميل
=====================================================
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©Todos los derechos reservados. El uso sin permiso es ilegal
©Alle Rechte vorbehalten. Die Verwendung ohne Genehmigung ist illegal
جميع الحقوق محفوظة. استخدام من دون إذن هو غير قانوني©
©保留所有权利。未经批准的使用是非法的
©Tous droits réservés. L'utilisation sans permission est illégal
© Όλα τα δικαιώματα διατηρούνται. Χρησιμοποιήστε χωρίς άδεια είναι παράνομη
©Tutti i diritti riservati. Usare senza autorizzazione è illegale
©すべての権利を保有。許可なしに使用することは違法です
©Todos os direitos reservados. Use sem autorização é ilegal
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©Все права защищены. Использование без разрешения является незаконным
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Flower Crab Spiders are ambush predators. They rest on flower heads, vigilantly waiting for a bee or butterfly to happen by.
Sideling Hill W.M.A.
Washington County, Maryland
July 9, 2017
I raise a glass of good dark beer to toast the holiday of Yule, the winter Solstice. In honor of the occasion, I wear my three year old blue-green dress from Victoria's Secret.
Green is the color that symbolizes the cardinal direction north, the fundamental element earth, plant life, and the feminine essence that bears and sustains life.
If you have ever lived in the far north where days are extremely short this time of year, you'll know why celebrations that honor the seasons are important. Winter used to be deadly and still can be for those who aren't prepared. For the last hundred years rail transportation and modern food storage have enabled food surpluses to reach consumers to the advantage of both. Winter can even be exploited for outdoor sports and tourism as long as everything works. Here in the subtropical Gulf Coast, winter can often be negligible or a brief nuisance, but summer is usually five to six months of very hot weather that brings thunderstorms, tornadoes, floods, hurricanes, or droughts, dust storms and wildfires.
For those who honor the old ways, red is the color that symbolizes the cardinal direction south, the metaphysical element fire, animal life, blood, and the male essence that initiates life and kills to hunt for food, defend its own kind ,and fight off rivals. Blood and fire are the ways of war and also represent the violent acts of Nature such as storms, earthquakes, volcanoes, and death that are necessary for life to continue.
Yellow is the color of the risen sun and represents the cardinal direction east and the element air. For over two hundred years we have known that air is really a mixture of gases, but we breathe it in as one and hope that it is pure. Blue is the color that represents the cardinal direction west and the element water. The key to understanding the chemical nature of the world was when colorless water was found to be made up of two colorless gases bonded together and only appears to be blue when it reflects the sky which appears blue only because sunlight acts upon those colorless gases. Mind blowing!
Those who get up early and see the rising sun look upon the east as the place where the sun will rise in the future. This is why many temples face east. Those of us who prefer to get up later look to the west as the place where the sun will set in the future. We look to the night sky and see the stars, planets, and moon as an even greater temple to gaze upon and someday visit.
I considered having a ceremony initiating my girlfriend in the Ways of the Ancients, but the Elements conspired against me while I was putting on my makeup, and I lost too much time and patience. To make a circle requires the right attitude, so I will have to wait for the next appropriate date.
Jerrick pushes me aside to the wall like I'm nothing. He picks my dad up off his feet, holding him by his throat. I...I don't know why I just sat there like an idiot. This was a true sociopath who's extremely close to killing my dad. I think it was just shock. I was a bit relieved when I saw him sheath his blade, but this is still the guy known for killing criminals with his own two hands. He pulls my dad closer to his face, and shoots him a look I'm sure is gonna haunt Arthur for years. As if he didn't have enough things keeping him up at night...
"Listen good, Arthur. Cluemaster is dead. Done. Over. I never wanna see this bullshit orange jumpsuit of yours ever again. Got it?"
"Y-yes..."
"Next time your girl won't stop me. Remember that."
He drops dad and lumbers off into the shadows. As soon as I'm sure he's gone I go right to my dad's side. Oh god, he's covered in his own blood...he's definably critical. How's he still conscious? If I came here sooner he wouldn't be in this much pain. It's my fault...
"Y-you knew? About Bane?...."
"You left that clue at Gotham Liberty. If you didn't I wouldn't have learned and you'd be dead right now..."
"I was ready to die. When Bane's--Arrgh--Bane's guys killed those people, I thought I lost you for good. The only thing I had left to live for..."
"I'm so sorry, daddy... If I wasn't such a moron earlier I would've tried to help you like Bruce did."
"What...what did you just call me?"
"....daddy?"
"I don't remember you ever calling me that. Even as a baby....Aarrghh!!"
"Oh god, daddy! W-where's it hurt the most?"
"Here...."
"....you didn't point anywhere."
"That's where it hurts..."
"Oh daddy... I'll call in the Whirly Bird, get you to a hospital quick! You're losing blood, we gotta--"
"Hey, found him! Christ, he's covered in blood! What happened?"
Police? Thank god, they can get some help!
"Get a medic here, quick! he's practically dying!"
"Ah man. All units report, we have a 10-45C at the east docs, need and ambulance, now!"
"Huh, so this is where you've been?"
"Jim? No...I was hunting him down like an idiot. I didn't know who the real villain was..."
"Well, everyone does now. Big guy called me up, told me the whole thing. Most of the force is mobilizing on Krank's right now. Arthur should be good now."
I wish that were true. The bloodsmear and my dad's pained grunts say otherwise. I stayed with him until about 3 minutes later when the medics took him away. I followed the ambulance all the way to Mercy Hospital. I'm not sleeping tonight. Not until I know for sure he's gonna be okay....
Day 6: Early morning we took the long and scenic drive to East Glacier along Highway 2. It's a stunning route and I couldn't take my eyes off the beauty around me.
Just east of Essex about halfway between East & West Glacier we came to the Goat Lick....Mountain goats like to hang around this natural salt lick on cliffs that overlook the scenic Middle Fork of the Flathead River. We were lucky enough to see a few of the Goats and it's an area I would like to spend more time exploring on my next trip.
Just past that we came to the Silver Stairs. This waterfall is on the side of Highway 2. We spent some time there, climbing up the "stairs" and getting pretty wet. I was shocked at how cold the water was but it was a great way to cool down on a hot day.
Then you drive through the Lewis & Clark NF and across the Continental Divide....finally entering The Blackfeet Indian Reservation and taking 49 and 89 to East Glacier.
We had a busy day visiting St. Mary, Many Glacier and driving all over the park. We wore ourselves out doing the trails....stopping to relax when we got down to St. Mary Falls.
At one point we saw something large and brown at the side of the road and I got excited thinking it was a Grizzly. No luck....it was a cow belonging to the Blackfeet Indians. (note to self: make appointment to get my eyes checked!) Guess it just wasn't meant to be on this trip.
The drive out of the park was nerve-racking since it was past 10pm and getting pretty dark. There are no barriers between the lane going out and the huge drop down the cliffs. Not to mention that it's hard keeping your eyes on the road with so much to look at!
It was a perfect trip and I hope to go back early in 2010. One week just isn't enough...
Suitably refreshed, we made it to the show before it go to crowded, so we could practice all the moves and admire the costumes everyone was wearing.
As part of a working trip to the de-occupied part of the Kherson region, President of Ukraine Volodymyr Zelenskyy presented state awards to the servicemen who distinguished themselves during the liberation of Kherson and the region.
The Head of State emphasized that the liberation of territories is not easy for Ukraine. This is due to the colossal efforts of Ukrainian defenders.
"The enemy does not give us anything just like that. We are paying a very high price in this war. Freedom costs us the lives and health of our best people," the President said.
He thanked the warriors for their courage and selflessness in defending Ukraine.
"Congratulations on the liberation of Kherson. I wish health to you, your families, children. And let’s move on towards victory! Glory to Ukraine!" said the Head of State.
Black and white photography of a couple going to a new modern hotel in the middle of the emptiness of the night in Brussels (Belgium). © Eliseo Oliveras
Eliseo Oliveras Photography: www.eliseooliveras.com
Blog Crónica de Europa: cronicadeeuropa.blogspot.com/
Photo book: "Brussels on the skin" on video: www.youtube.com/watch?v=IRgMIIBU8zA
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North of Taormina (Sicily), rises the village of Mongiuffi, which forms a single municipality with the city of Melia (Mongiuffi-Melia, Sicily), the devotion to St. Paulinus to Mongiuffi is very old, perhaps because it is the patron saint of crops, or for some others reasons; the Saint is celebrated twice a year, in June and August. While in June the statue visits the urban districts, in August the statue is carried in procession in the afternoon, goes to bless the surrounding countryside; the first area to reach is the Land Deri, where there is a large open space where the wheat was threshed: here the "Miracles" take place, the statue runs through a route with a form of "cross of Sant'Andrea", the saint is rushed, then he is always running, on himself, in the meantime devotees pray, with the litanies invoking the protection of the crops. Subsequently, taking a very impervious road, you reach an area from which you can see the Sanctuary of Maria SS. della Catena, as if to offer the Saint's greeting to the Virgin. Therefore, other rather inaccessible and tortuous places are reached. When the procession finds houses scattered around the countryside, the Mongiuffesi residents there, offer the local specialties. A very characteristic thing, which is a form of "connection" in passing these traditions from adults to children, even very young ones, there are some floats, big and little ones, with a statue of size and weight proportionate to their age, so old devotees and very young devotees all togethers go with their floats, so the young ones imitate the adults.
This photographic story talks about the procession of 07/08/2016.
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A nord di Taormina, sorge l’abitato di Mongiuffi, che forma un solo comune con la cittadina di Melia, la devozione per S. Paolino a Mongiuffi è antichissima, forse perchè è il Santo protettore delle coltivazioni, o per chissà quali motivi; Il Santo viene festeggiato due volte l’anno, a giugno e ad Agosto. Mentre a giugno la statua visita i quartieri urbani, ad Agosto la statua viene portata in processione di pomeriggio, va a benedire le campagne circostanti; la prima zona che si raggiunge è la Contrada Deri, dove vi è un grande spiazzo cui veniva trebbiato il grano: qui si svolgono i “Miracoli”, alla statua si fa compiere un percorso "a croce di S. Andrea" da un capo all’altro dell’aia, il santo viene portato correndo, quindi viene poi fatto piroettare, sempre di corsa, su se stesso, nel frattempo si prega, con le litanie che invocano la protezione dei raccolti. Successivamente, prendendo per una strada molto impervia, si va in una zona dalla quale si vede il Santuario di Maria SS. della Catena, come a voler porgere il saluto del Santo alla Vergine. Si raggiungono, quindi, altri luoghi abbastanza impervi e tortuosi. Quando si incontrano case sparse per la campagna, i Mongiuffesi ivi residenti, offrono a tutti varie specialità locali. Una cosa molto caratteristica, che rappresenta una forma di "anello di congiunzione" nel tramandare queste tradizioni dagli adulti ai ragazzini, o addirittura a bimbi anche molto piccoli, è il vedere più vare, da quella grande degli adulti, a quelle più piccole, ognuna con la propria statua di San Paolino, di grandezza proporzionale alle varie età, con la quale i piccoli imitano gli adulti correndo loro dietro: in questa ho contato quattro vare, con bambini-ragazzini "portatori" di varie età.
Questo racconto fotografico è stato realizzato il 07/08/2016.
To view the full set [238 photos eventually] of photos from July 1982, mainly in South Wales, please click here -
UNLIKE THE GREEN VERVET MONKEYS WHO WILL COME OUT OF THE TREES TO BEG FOR FOOD THESE BEAUTIFULL CREATURES ARE EASILY SPOOKED AND CLIMB UP AND OUT OF SIGHT. IF YOU SNEEK UP QUIETLY YOU CAN CAPTURE THEM ON CAMERA.
To forget one’s ancestors is to be a brook without a source, a tree without a root.
– Chinese Proverb
The Firehydrant..chapter one..Busted..an excerpt from a story set in 1973/74
After that first court appearance in the Windsor courthouse I was sitting in the back of the paddy wagon being transported along with a few other criminals to the county bucket a five minute or so ride from the courthouse. I was still pretty high, if you look at it from a different perspective, I’d been high for about four or five years. Once, years earlier at the Don Gaol in Toronto, I was serving a four day weekend when these two cool hip looking Yankee dudes asked me what the prices were on the streets for weed and hash, shit like that. They had all the hippie trappings, long hair, hawk like features from looking over their shoulders too often. Briefly I thought maybe they were cops, plants, but they were Americans and had just left the O.R. in Guelph where they knew my buddy Coop de Grasser who was the head of the inmate committee at that time. I knew the difference in body language and voices from that of common pigs, they gave me that term, “we’ve been high for seven years, then we got busted” they had a Cheech and Chong quality about them especially in the eyes, they were crazies too, coming from California I could grasp their earlier introduction to the Herb.
Sitting in that wagon, (nic nac paddy whack, paddy wagon gonna take ya back, lock ya up and thro away the keys) handcuffed to some murderer or child molester, it just didn’t feel right, or seem right. I was not in the same criminal category as “those” criminals. They were bad, I just sold recreational drugs, which made people happy. I looked out the unmarked vans wired windows at some familiar sights. There was the Ambassador Bridge the Hippies at school had marched on the year before protesting for an end to the war in Vietnam while the Simon and Garfunkel song A Bridge Over Troubled Water played over loudspeakers. It was the same bridge Pete Kalci and self used to score the Hookers, buy the case of Ripple Wine, cross over to attend the Ravi Shankar and Traffic concerts. The very same bridge that took you to Ann Arbour and all the hip people living near those Michigan campuses. I was feeling greasy, very dirty, sweat was stinking up my armpits, my new blue leisure jacket was all wrinkled from being used as a pillow in the police station cell the night before where I once again carved the initials CTuna into the institutional paint.
Prison is a very sobering experience. That morning in the courtroom a man in his thirties, a violent robber, he threatened the people he robbed, gave them a smack with a gun to get their attention, you’d think this guy was rock solid, wouldn’t crack, no matter what. He started to ball when they gave him eight years in Federal Penitentiary, His lawyer had pleaded for leniency as he had a wife and a new baby on the way. You could tell the judge wasn’t swayed by this plea bargaining, he had to protect society from this monster repeat offender. Downstairs in the dungeon like remand cells I stayed away from him he was so emotionally distraught he might of lashed out at me.
You don’t get to pick your company in jail. At the county prison where I would be held for six weeks waiting for my trial and sentencing I was put through the usual routines, fingerprinted, again as I had already been fingerprinted at the police station the night before when I was arrested. At the county jail your clothes are taken from you and put in a bag with your name on them. The intake officer instructs you to have a shower in this big stall that was doorless. Afterwards you are instructed to stand there while a another officer sprays you for lice with a pressure mister that resembles a brass plant and weed sprayer similar to one you would use in your garden to kill bugs. All loose things like lighters, smokes, pills, cough candies, change, had been put into a manila envelope with your name on it at the police station downtown. This included my teacher/friends Don and Carol’s car keys to their car which I had parked on one of the upper floors at the Toronto Airport before taking the flight to Windsor. The paddy wagon driver another pink faced anglo saxon refugee handed that manila envelope over to the guard on duty when we arrived through the heavy steel gates and through a small brick lined tunnel into the courtyard of the very old county jail, the steel gates clanked shut automatically.
The desk guard had each of us answer some rudimentary questions, sex, race, age, education, religion, he looked startled and upset when he heard I was Taoist (pronounced Daoist). This was my spiritual flavour of the month, a Chinese faith based on the worship of Nature.
My bed for the next six weeks was located on the second tier of the three tiered old thick stone building built I would think in the last century. On this tier there were three other wards each ward holding a dozen cages/cells/cribs, each cell comprised of a steel bed a dull once stainless steel washbasin and a similar steel toilet without a seat, a piece of four inch square stainless steel was mounted above the sink, the mirror. The tier was designed to allow a single guard to patrol all four wards on the floor from the command centre located in the centre of the unit. There were always two guards on each floor one in the booth, the other always roaming. A roll of toilet paper had been issued to me as well as a cheap toothbrush and some tooth powder a threadbare facecloth and a towel big enough to dry your face and hands. A twenty five watt bulb glowed in the ceiling above, it would be on from six in the morning, till lights out at ten.
Home Sweet Home. My roommates were of various criminal backgrounds, there was a tall skinny biker with greasy yellow hair like the kind a worker at a wrecking yard might have, he was in for rape, his partner slept in the next set of cells, a portly unshaven fellow possibly related to a black bear or Kentucky mountain person, he was also in for rape, the two of them belonged to the Loners M.C, the local biker club. Next to me in the adjoining cell was a guy named Bill Hoskins who was quiet, had a scared look on his face, hadn’t shaved in a while, slightly receding, looked a bit like Garth Hudson of the Band, he was in on a smuggling marijuana charge and was not pleased with his circumstances. Little Mikey was the ward comic, shit disturber, go between, who was the one who bridged social classes and intermingled with all types, a chatterbox. There were a few quiet chaps and there was a young likeable guy all tattooed with crudely tattooed LOVE and HATE on his knuckles who it seemed had spent most of his young life in jail. He was just hoping to get sent to a prison in the area The Burtch Institution, he spoke of Burtch the way we would usually talk about home. Besides this motley crew there was one guy who everyone liked, I don’t recall his name, it might have been Jim he was coming down from using junk, he was dark haired and sort of reminded me of the Veteres from my youth, my neighbourhood Mt.Dennis, this Jim, he was street wise, quick to talk, he’d been around for his young twenty something age.
In very quick fashion a new person is sized up by the powers on the ward of any prison in any country, and it isn’t very long before the new prisoners place in the prison pack is established. For some reason my popularity irritated the power and after a few days I was asked to give the bad guys smokes while we were out in the small yard strolling around getting fresh air, I gave this some thought and passed out a few TMs as tailor made cigarettes were called but not without some resistance, the bikers weren’t very pleased to have a smart ass comparatively wealthy guy like myself around who might wrestle the minds of the weaker members of the pack from them.
As usual I became quite popular, my ability to tell stories and write stories about the fabled life in Toronto, the apartment building full of drugs (Rochdale) had every ones eyes bulging out. By this time two black brothers from Detroit were in the same ward with a minor infraction, they passed themselves off as bona fide black 'gangstas', I bought their story, they needed a connection to some crystal meth in TO and I turned them on to a pair of bikers who were living in the west end and whom I thought might appreciate the referral. As it was I had a list of phone numbers hidden in my shoes under the lining which along with some of my street clothes I was allowed to wear after they had been fumigated and cleaned since I was on remand and not yet officially a ward of the government. The black guys got bail fast, I never saw them again. Later in life the guys I referred them to paid me a visit as I worked the day shift at the Queensbury Arms, they weren’t pleased with my introduction. It could have been curtains for me, had I not been able to think on my feet. They thought the black guys may have been cops..
There was a crooked screw (guard) on the floor who for a price would smuggle in drugs and other contraband for those who had money and cravings. His name was Sidney and he was very tight with the diverse criminal element. In every prison man ever created there have been bent guards. Up to this time in life I had only known the soft side of Windsor, the niceties of the University scene, this was a much different perspective as the other folk I was now incarcerated with thought this situation as one of their schools of higher learning, a step in the ladder of criminality.
To help make time pass we played cards at the larger than picnic table sized metal tables that were bolted to the floor along with metal benches that were also bolted I suppose so no one would use them to hit each other with. A box shaped colour TV set sat in one corner of the ward. It was hung on one of those hospital style adjustable mounts and it was only put on at certain times, in the evenings from 7 to 10 or a bit later if something that was important was being shown. On weekends that TV might be on all day, starting with cartoons in the morning, which I recall quite a few of the people enjoying, then sports, and then hockey at night. There wasn’t much to do on weekends everybody’s routines ground to a halt.
The news story of the day was Richard Nixon’s impeachment from office. The previous year it seemed as if I had lost touch with events in the world. On reflection it may have been a lack of interest in the news that television and other media fed you. Lacking very many options at this time I began to join the herd and watched and laughed at All in The Family. The dreaded hockey games were on Saturday nights. Hockey is a Canadian staple and there were fierce conversations about various teams. Being so close to Detroit made for a lively rivalry, there weren’t as many teams in the league, it was an easier sport to appreciate.
Besides these time fillers I wrote pages and pages of short stories, some lyrical, like poems or songs. One in particular was a rhyming story about a “Gypsy Caravan” that parked under the full moon and where my lost love wept for me as I’d been sent to war. There were numerous verses and choruses, it was in my eyes a grand work. Several of the inmates would gather around the table as I would recite these stories, I recall Jim the Junkie giving the story his blessing and that was quite important for me as his sense of beauty and appreciation was different than the others. The other prisoners on remand held him in awe for some reason, he was like a Robin Hood type, a criminal All Star born and raised in Windsor. He got out on bail and a short while later word filtered back that he had died of an overdose of heroin and I always felt good that I had painted this nice scene for him of gypsies and love along a riverbank in golden days, like a Van Morrison lyric and his praise still ranks with the praise of others given me over the years.
Perhaps that is where my new nickname came from, that story about the gypsies. Around then someone tagged me with the title ‘Gypsy’ and it stuck right through my prison life. It took a while at first to get used to the new title, after all, nicknames were nothing new to me, as a kid I had been called Brooks by Bud Walford after Brooks Robinson the ballplayer with the Baltimore Orioles, Barb Sue Kevin and Shane often called me Weaver “Hey Weave” when we were younger playing cards on Victoria Blvd, then early on I used to carve my initials into the poured concrete sidewalks all over our area called Mount Dinky. C Tuna I would carve, using a stick or a piece of rock. Around this time there was a cartoon character called Charlie Tuna who was seen in tv advertisements for the Starkist Tuna company, there was a jingle with the ads and the ads were based on the premise that only the finest Tunas were good enough for Starkist customers and old Charlie a suave, Jackie Gleason type of Tuna with slicked back hair was always thrown back in to the sea. C Tuna was scraped also in the odd prison cell of Toronto’s #12, #31 and #52 Divisions as well as the gritty Don Gaol and now Windsor. One time, in Toronto I woke up from a drunken stupor and a police man at the #52 Divison asked me, “are you Charles Gregory aka C Tuna?” I replied I was, and was curtly charged with being drunk in a public place. I went back to sleep and was released in the morning, I couldn’t have been much more than sixteen.
My long relationship with the drink started around fifteen or so. While hanging out at Nick’s Pool Hall on Weston Road near Eglinton I met guys who were a bit older and liked to drink, especially on the weekends. An older guy named Bud a good pool player would go to the beer store and buy us a box of beer, I had developed a taste for it. Today, when I reflect on this behavior I have difficulty in recalling why I drank so much to the point often of blacking out as the consumption of beer became mixed with that of hard alcohol, whiskey, scotch etcetera. A common Saturday night would find me drinking a dozen beers with a mickey of Johnny Walker red as a chaser. At one time, I had been arrested six weekends in a row for drinking under age, drinking in a public place, drunk and disorderly…My mom was fed up bailing me out on Sunday mornings at the local police holding cells, located in the police stations, 31 division and 12 division. The fine for such behavior was usually $25 or $35 dollars or three days in jail. Not once do I recall anyone saying, this boy needs counseling. I may have been such a ‘tough nut’ that they felt it would have been a waste of time.
My friend George Holmes loved shouting out “here comes Tuna Fish” up at the corner of Keele and Eglinton during my greaseball period. This period took place between frat days and hippy days. Around town in my greaseball days that name C Tuna was recognizable up in the Junction, over on St Clair at Blackthorn and as well at Lansdowne and St Clair, also farther west towards Jane and Wilson and in Weston proper. I suppose the greasers up at Dufferin and Eglinton like Kenny Tanaka and Danny MacDonald had also known my AKA. It wasn’t that I was a prize fighter or anything a moniker was more a Title like that of a knight or a duke, sort of a right of passing, like a coming of age. Lots of guys had nick names just like the TV gangsters of the day, or the good guy bad guys in cowboy films. Names that quickly come to mind are, Hook, Coop de Grassser, Gooch, Scarecrow, Mars, Jake the Snake, Crazy Ivan, Fat Jack Hamilton, Mod, Vern the Tern, Dump, Butler, The Kid, Toot, Count, one guy, my friend Dave Wellwood had several nick names, The Goat, News, The General, Pee Wee and on and on.
Chassly Gangbusters was a favourite of the Hook and Coop years, Herbie used to like calling me Storch it was his invention he’d say it ‘Storch’ then back off a few steps in case I’d give him a smack, I always gave him a nasty sneer when he called me that. Charlie, Chuck, Chas, but almost never Charles. My name comes from a friend of my dads, Charles Bishop who died in the second war. Lately Schmiddy has been calling me the Kaliph of Keene which I really like. In the tradition of moms father Leon Yamel, actually Noel Lemay I’ve often tagged myself as Selrahc Yrogerg, this dates back to my saying words backwards while I waited to get on the field at the Smythe Park baseball league.
After a few days in the ward I could almost feel the drugs leaving my system and after two or three weeks I’d never been so clean, voluntarily. Even when I had the Hepatitis at Rochdale earlier that winter I was toking the finest hash and bud available. I must admit there was a new clarity to my mental comprehension, I could not adjust myself with other substances, alcohol included.
The food was awful, repetitive, I smoked like a chimney, there was a few hundred dollars in my pocket when I was picked up, I don’t recall the figure exactly. These funds in prison buy a lot of tobacco! To keep the peace I gave out as many smokes as required to avoid the bad guys wanting to shank me. We played cards night and day to pass the time, if anything I can remember that in particular, the time passing real slowly. That’s what more seasoned guys were saying that once you got where you were going, once you were sentenced you would find that your days took on structure and time was easier to do. This kind of time, waiting to be sentenced is called Dead Time and rightly so.
Michael Snyder the lawyer supplied free via the government legal aid program was a little lame in court during my first appearance. I took him aside and chewed him out. I wrote a letter to the court system, maybe the judge or the Attorney Generals Office, I’m not sure. The crooked screw Sidney read the letter and informed the lawyer of my dissatisfaction this got his attention and he did a fine job afterwards. I wonder if that letter ever made it out of that place.
Bill Hoskins as it turns out was in for a serious smuggling rap that he was not telling any of us about. He was on a sailing boat that had come up from the Bahamas area loaded with marijuana. The pot was hidden in false walls built into the customized ship, tons and tons of gange. As advisory counsel for my defense he nixed my hand written ten page dialogue about my historical accounting of the events leading up to my arrest, from the dysfunctional family situation with big Al at home which I used as my starting point in the dialogue, nixed the U.I.C. appeals process where I was cut off pogey for quitting my position without proper reason, nixed it all. He said to get a bunch of people to write letters who could speak for your good side, which in point of fact wasn’t so long ago, just the previous year I was bringing the teachers apples and cleaning the chalk off of the blackboards.
Turns out Sidney the crooked guard did me a favour by reading the mail that I had addressed to the law society and others regarding my lawyers lameness. When the lawyer caught wind of this he rushed in to appease me. Three weeks in the bucket passed and I was anxious to get on with things, when asked how I wished to plead it was a no brainer, I pled guilty. In court the judge found me guilty of all the charges, trafficking in narcotics, marijuana, hashish, peyote, acid, there was no blow left and I guess they didn’t bother to analyze the salt like crystal meth, there wasn’t much of it. I sat in the dock, again resolved, resolved not to break down and cry when sentenced like that other guy had done. I had to wait three more weeks for sentencing as the judge had asked for a pre-sentence report, which is like a record of your life, the details of your life, your failures and your successes if any. I recall finding this worrisome, although in my mind, having recently attended university under trying (at home) circumstances as a mature student, I felt I was on the right track, just jumped off the track momentarily.
That morning back in the court holding cells this big young Coloured man, I repeat, this was a big, strong athletic mean and angry twenty year old who wore those thick soled, tan coloured boots that motorcycle riders wore in the day, Fry Boots was their name. A diddler, a full grown twenty something farm kid from the sticks had just been returned to the holding cells in the basement of the court house, he walked with his head down, ashamed and afraid at the same time. As if in a movie the cell area was dimly lit an invitation for terror.
The farm kid went into a cell at the back of the block, none of the cell doors were locked. In court it came out that a couple of young girls had been molested the day before, quite young, under ten or so. You know how they say the jail system has its own way of getting folk, well this kid was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That big negro boy took his hatred out on that boy, he went into that cell and put the boots to the farm kids face, his gut, his balls, his legs, you name it, he got hit real hard. Nobody, no prisoner, no guard interfered I just watched stunned, I didn’t try to break it up, I just watched in my own kind of terror, that’s the way it can be in prison for diddlers they get no mercy, they are garbage. The guards very slowly came and broke it up, put the diddler in a solitary area, by this time his assailant had left the cell, he just brushed pass us all, me the other prisoners, the guards and took a seat in a cell holding his head in his hands, the screws never even bothered to ask what had happened, then we all went to the jailhouse in the paddy wagon, the diddler got separate transportation. Funny, I never saw that black guy again, he may have gone up to court and been given bail.
At the county bucket they put the diddler in a cell on my ward. That night we got him there as well but in a different way. Myself and others made a mixture of shit and piss, cold tea, spit and saliva, toilet water any vile substance we could find and poured it all over him as he lay in a back corner of the ward, not saying a word, afraid for his life, afraid to say anything, I mean we really humiliated him, I was a big part of this humiliation, this hazing, it was worse than a military blackballing. I’d been involved as a recipient in a mild fraternity hazing, I suppose that is where I got the idea. Over the years I’ve had a lot of remorse about this event but I still hold that this punishment, this prison tar and feathering was better than him losing his life, his balls or an eye or an ear.
They moved the big scared blonde haired blue eyed farm boy diddler from the ward that night put him into solitary confinement. In the visiting room the next day Frankie Herbert’s dad Frank Sr. came to visit, my first visit in nearly a month. Mr. Herbert worked as a travelling salesman for a big novelty company, he toured Ontario selling kitschy stuff like bingo markers, and roulette wheels and all sorts of things fundraising organizations use in their work and that large corporate stores stocked. At the same time Frank Sr. was visiting the diddler was visiting his dad, telling his dad through his pulverized face that I was one of his enemies, one of the perpetrators of his black eyes and bruises. That diddler, he don’t know how close he come to dying in that cell downtown. Frank Sr. he just looked at this farm kid with the shiners, looked at me, Frank Sr. he knew what the score was, he just shook his head, my father figure, surrogate dad visiting his son in gaol. Years earlier, Mr. Herbert had put up bail for me when the RCMP had placed a bag of pot in our groups car (actually a stretch Cadillac limo) as we tried to enter the Rockwood Festival. We had heard via the radio that everyone was getting busted that heading to the concert so we had stopped and stashed our goods in the woods, a ways from the entrance. The other five people were given bail but I was refused because of a previous minor offence. The charges were all thrown out in court later. I told the RCMP, this guy last name of Ryan, that if I saw him on the streets, I would kick the shit of him!
A couple of university school chums paid a visit one day after I had been sentenced, Tim, a bright musician type from the university showed up with my old baked and breaded sardine dinner girlfriend, Mary Lewis. That was kind of them to show up at that depressing place, it was the last time I ever saw or heard from them except when I contacted Mary Lewis and she sent me a year book from the university. A book I looked at maybe twice then mysteriously wrapped in several windings of masking tape for thirty years and hid in a milk crate with several old photo albums on top, securing its hiding place, was that my soul in that book? Who was that guy?
Bill the Smuggler had a birthday card sent in from someone on the outside, in the card, on the nose of the clown they had poured some liquid LSD and Bill did some, offered me a taste, I declined, felt the surroundings not conducive to a good trip. Bill laid some on the bikers to secure their loyalty. Now here you have these three or four biker types running around all looney, higher than kites, grooving to the little AM radio playing in the corner, digging the tunes, staring at hallucinations only they could see. In a way it was like the lawyer in Easy Rider getting turned on, except these were bad guys, getting all soft and mushy, I stayed in my crib that night until the party settled down. I think I was scared the bikers might be able (through the power of acid) be able to see my true feelings for them. Like many a night I read to sleep. Dostoyevsky offered imaginable experiences to escape to.
Next day in the yard the bikers were hovering together, conspiring, they were good at that, at joining forces, intimidation by numbers. At some point this middle aged black inmate took an epileptic fit, started shaking all over, fell to the ground, I thought he had been shot, the guards blew their stupid whistles they thought someone had beaten the guy up. We all had to stand at attention while the screws came and took the fellow away on a stretcher. It was a cool forty five degree F morning, the sun was shining. The heavy grey cloth winter coats we’d been issued had to be turned in when we went back inside, it felt so good being out in the yard, the fresh air, the bit of Spring green showing on the small lawn. Another inmate pointed out where they used to do the hangings, there remained a shuttered doorway a few levels up I was also shown where they used to bury the bodies they had hung, this was becoming a real adult experience.
Travel to Croatia and Montenegro - April - May 2022 - Day 9
Detente dans un magnifique hotel 4 etoiles en bord de mer
Detendez-vous les prochains jours dans votre hotel 4 etoiles directement a la plage sur la fabuleuse cote adriatique montenegrine!
Les chambres tout confort sont luxueuses et modernes et sont equipeesde climatisation, salle de bain/WC et televiseur a ecran plat. Profitez de l'espace bien-etre de reve de l'hotel. Faites une pause a la piscine ou flanez tranquillement le long de la plage.
Feel free to fill out a comment card about the uncomfortable seats, bumpy ride, foul odors, loud noises, lack of shade... anything else that might trigger you.
GMC DUKW 353 "Duck"
Old Green Marine DUKW Tours
Veterans Beach
Landing Forces Memorial Park
S. Ocean and Memorial Drive
City of Mystic Beach
Baynard County, FL, USA
30 May 2016
#1stPixLFMP
Olympus OM-D E-M5 Mark II
Olympus M.14-42mm F3.5-5.6 II R
To see you when I wake up
is a gift I didn't think could be real.
To know that you feel the same as I do
is a three-fold, utopian dream.
You do something to me that I can't explain.
So would I be out of line if I said,
I miss you.
I see your picture, I smell your skin on the empty pillow next to mine.
You have only been gone ten days, but already I'm wasting away.
I know I'll see you again
whether far or soon.
But I need you to know that I care
and I miss you.
INCUBUS
this is the little green top that I wore to the big city on Friday, Oct 17, 2025, to the tigrl social.
I think it is a nice soft color and the little bob-sleeves are pefectly-girly, to boost the spirits.
The plushies are excited to greet their new pal but he's SO new he doesn't have a name yet. Ideas? He's a real rock but definitely not stony. I'm thinking of Rock Gibralter. Can't use the nicname Rocky cuz that's my first plushie, Rocky the (real) Cat. Happy Toy-in-the-frame Thursday!
Masterfully carved by a true master, LeeCarves
UPDATE: We have an official name for the newly-arrived family member: Uncle Waddle. See discussion below. Thanks ALL for the great suggestions.
Japanese cars of this era are commonplace throughout Cyprus, the MK1 Accord less so as this was the only example I saw. It looks to be a British import.
Note the Mk4 Ford Escort XR4i convertible in the background. This model is fairly common in Cyprus, all other specifications much less so.
Photographed near Kyrenia.
It has been remarkable to watch the gradual transformation of the tadpoles into frogs, and with each advanced stage, they tend to be more bold and aggressive. The FROGLET is the final stage before the official FROG designation. The only remaining feature to transform is the tail, the shorter it is, the closer to being a true frog. I know we shoot a lot of these adorable amphibians, but we can’t help ourselves . . . Whenever we think that we have enough shots of them for our inventory, we get attracted to the individual ones at hand, and upon careful examination, each critter and scene is truly different.
Situated in Far Hills in Somerset County of New Jersey, this hidden gem, nestled amongst hills and brooks, is like the proverbial Garden of Eden. Incorporating the natural landscape and creating a truly enchanting garden around it makes this place a MUST VISIT for anyone with a sense of appreciation for nature in a quiet way. Nothing pretentious, but so much can be seen and learned from each outing. The bucolic setting will put your heart and soul at ease, and quickly remove the stress of everyday life—at least, while you are there.
The vast collection of trees and plants is incredible, and the landscape architecture is attended to with such deep passion and care. Wildlife, such as birds, insects—wide variety of butterflies, dragonflies, and damselflies--amphibians and reptiles can be seen regularly during the warmer seasons, and the pure air of life emanates throughout. The frogs and snapping turtles, in particular, are quite amazing, the latter often lurking under a layer of vegetation just beyond the surface of the water. Accordingly, the brooks and ponds are rich with activity and you don’t need to enjoy photography to appreciate the many wonders found in this bucolic landscape.
TAKE A LOOK AT OUR ALBUM FOR “LEONARD J. BUCK GARDEN.” YOU WILL BE AMAZED AT JUST HOW WONDERFUL A GARDEN THIS IS . . .
To Nick Stephens, the man who inspired and advised me to do my 365.
Nick, thank you for your support and inspiration.
Please, if you have time, view Nick's Stream and comment on one of his shots.
Nick is currently working through his SECOND 365. Yay!
This Wright Axcess Ultralow Bodied Scania L113CRL N414 ENW has had an interesting life. Being new to Rider York for their park and ride services in September 1995, it then ran in Chester for some time before passing onto First Leeds where against all odds was painted into the Companies 'Olympia' Corporate livery after an RTA repair(Photo link can be seen below) but was eventually withdrawn in 2014 and purchased by Connexions Buses, where it is seen here at Askham Bar Tescos in York, which is also one of the many park and ride sites it would have served when new. Realistically, this should have been withdrawn with the single Decker DDA deadline in January of this year, but a joy to still see it out and about!
Photo taken on the 1st April 2016.
Why is it every time I drink a diet coke (and yes with the Texas thing - "coke" to me means Dr. Pepper, Sprite, etc. - basically anything carbonated) it feels like my enamel is dissolving off my teeth? I know it's an urban legend, but still....
I'm sort of a freak about teeth.
I carry floss with me at all times, I actually enjoy going to the dentist. I'll sit and suck on my teeth all day after a cleaning. I religiously use Arm & Hammer baking soda toothpaste (squeezed from the middle - I'm a brat like that), but as a kid used only Crest (the blue gel). Through college and grad school I used the cinnamon red gel stuff - though for the life of me I can't remember what brand that was. Colgate?
My sister Daphnne was fascinated with Miss Piggy bubblegum toothpaste with silver glitter in it when she was young, and to this day it makes me gag to smell artificial bubblegum flavoring.
When I was about 13 or so, I had very expensive liquid sealants that hardened into little enamel covered caps put into my back molars. I walked out of the dentist's office and chewed a piece of gum and they all immediately popped out. My family was not happy with me. The dentist had to redo them, twice. They still popped out.
I'm really bad about chewing on things - pens, ice, my nails... etc. or using my teeth to open things. Very bad for them, I know. I've never had a cavity in my life, though I think I'm getting one now as the enamel on one of my molars feels a bit sticky.
I'm horribly afraid of dentures (my great-grandmother used pop hers out at us with her tongue to scare us when we were really small and I was petrified of them). If and when I lose my teeth, I'll get implants because the thought of dentures squicks me out to no end.
My next door neighbors growing up (April and Mark Grogan) had two sets of baby teeth come in and fall out. I thought that was incredibly cool, though everyone teased them that they were really part shark.
As a July baby, I was one of the last kids in my class to lose a tooth. I lost my bottom two front teeth first, during the same weekend in first grade. One wasn't even really loose, but I wouldn't leave it alone until it fell out. I was so proud of my snaggletooth school pictures the next week.
I lost a tooth in a Hostess chocolate pudding filled fried pie (oh my god, could you get any more Southern than that?) and haven't been able to eat them since. I also lost one eating a caramel apple, so every time I eat one now a part of me worries that I will lose another one.
I once left a letter under my pillow for the tooth fairy to leave a picture of herself so I could know for sure she was real. I wasn't sure I believed, but I didn't want to be wrong and miss out. Blind faith has always been difficult for me I guess.
My sisters all had braces. I didn't.
My teeth used to be fairly straight, but now - thanks to severely impacted wisdom teeth - they're a bit jumbled on the bottom. I also have a mild overbite. I'd like to get braces now, but feel silly at my age about doing it.
I chipped my right front tooth about two years ago and had to have the dentist file it down for me. It was really sharp and I wouldn't leave it alone with my tongue. It's just a very subtle spot, but I'm extremely self conscious about it.
One of my front teeth has a flouride stain on it that makes it have an incredibly white stripe in it. It looks sort of like the little stars that cartoonists use to show that something is shiny. I used to be horribly embarassed by it, but I sort of like it now because it makes my smile unique.
I had all four of my impacted wisdom teeth extracted at one time. So unlike normal adults who have 32 teeth, I have 28. I busted out all my stitches and got oreo crumbs stuck in the holes because I just couldn't take any more jello and mashed potatoes. I ended up with more stitches. Which I again promptly pulled out.
My tongue is just barely long enough to flip up and cover my upper teeth.
I dream about my teeth a lot... about them falling out or swallowing them.
The anti fracking campaign here in the u.k. Is a real concern not only to people living close to a fracking site, it will affect the whole of the u.k. If it all goes terribly wrong, shale gas extraction could have a catastrophic effect upon the environment - your environment.
So please don't dismiss these protestors as cranks they are but a growing section of the community who should be taken notice of.
Here's a shot from behind the front line of protestors.
"Go green no fracking"
Follow the links for more information about fracking.
www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/home-news/north-yorkshire-f...
www.thelancasterandmorecambecitizen.co.uk/news/national/1...