View allAll Photos Tagged answer
Billy Meadway asked how many Bova Futura 2's Wicksons have ......I can answer the question . One of two Coaches for Wicksons on hire to Harry Shaw for he offical Coventry City Coaches for offical supporters was WT63FUT a Bova Futura 2 C53FT. Photo taken 24/01/14
This is the first of five photos that are inspired by the book Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer.
I just recently backpacked over 200 miles, mostly cross country, from about 15-20 miles south of Mt. Whitney to Tuolumne Meadows in Yosemite. I started and ended by myself, but along the way I meet and hiked with many wonderful people for short periods of time.
This is the tarn from the journal entry that I want to spend the night at, so I can photograph it at sunrise.
Day 4
It froze last night, I can see my breath this morning and the small pond I'm photographing is ringed with ice, though surprisingly my water bottles didn't freeze.
After photographing the sunrise, I boiled water for my breakfast. I opened the pouch (it's a dehydrated meal, just add boiling water) and I was so surprised to find a packet of olive oil in it, (I normally have some olive oil once a day back home) I have never been so happy to have olive oil. (later I realize that I was getting all the protein, carbohydrates, and other things from these meals except fats, I wasn't getting enough fats, so eventually I started bring fatty foods with me, but that wouldn't be until day 17)... Anyway... After breakfast I packed up and headed over to where the other two where camping, they weren't ready yet so I told them I was going to head over to the waterfall on the north end of the lake.
A little while later they meet me at the falls and we started the climb up to Crabtree Pass. The terrain on the way up was really rugged and beautiful as we wound our way up through labyrinthine canyons, past a few small unnamed lakes and tarns (one of them I want to camp at next time I'm here). We climbed through talus and boulder fields, some surreal and gently sloping moonscape and up steep scree slopes that make forward progress slow and difficult. We eventually reached a very large unnamed lake with some of the bluest water I've ever seen, almost tropical ocean blue around the shore to deep dark blue in the center.
The couple I was hiking with are a father and daughter, Paul and Macayla. Paul is a botanist for the Smithsonian. As we hiked he would name every plant we came across by both its common name and its scientific name. He showed me some edible ones, like alpine sheep sorrel, a leafy green like spinach but with a taste like green apple that was really good. He also answered my questions about some other plants I thought might be edible and he confirmed that they are.
Sky Blue Lake where we had spent the previous night is at an elevation of 11545 ft, Crabtree Pass is at 12600 ft, from Crabtree Pass the hiker descends to the highest of the three Crabtree Lakes at an elevation of 12080 ft. After we reached the top of the pass we stopped for a break and photo op. We then surveyed the decent to upper Crabtree Lake. To the left was scree, to the right was slab. We all unanimously agreed that the slab would be an easier decent.
Finally, after carefully and slowly picking our way down the slabs and a few areas of talus, we made it to the eastern shore of the upper Crabtree Lake. We made our way to the northern shore and navigated a spotty trail over talus until we reached the western shore and the creek that flowed through Crabtree canyon.
We stopped at the only shade we could find, a large boulder with and overhanging side near a small pond, for lunch. I ate my cliff bar and a handful of trail mix. Paul shared some homemade trail mix with me and some cheese. OMG cheese! After lunch we continued on to the middle Crabtree Lake (11312), around the north shore, past a beautiful sandy beach, to a spot on the western end where the creek flowed out and down to the lowest of the three Crabtree lakes, and set up camp there.
The two of them spent the rest of the afternoon fishing, eventually returning to camp with 3 fish. Smoke began blowing in from the west as we started to cook the fish, no fires where aloud in the back country, so the fish were boiled. We all shared fish and the fish broth, then I thanked them for the fish, and Paul said, "Don't thank me, thank the fish for their sacrifice and thank the lake for providing." So I did.
I photographed the sunset which was made more intense and vibrant with the low hanging sun shining though the smoke, as Paul and Macayla cooked their dinner. After the sun set I was just pulling out my stove to boil water for my dehydrated meal and Paul comes over to me and gives me a bowl of mac and cheese and potatoes. this time I thanked him. We said goodnight and we all retired to our sleeping bags for a good nights sleep.
The years go by but still I heed the call,
In the depths of my dreams it echoes,
Stirring the wildness within my soul,
The never-ending siren song of surf.
I long for liquid diamonds on my face,
To gaze on wind blown white horses,
Lie like a lover on sensuous waves,
Glide silently on the face of chance.
What is this wild, innocent joy I feel?
Do I belong between sea and sky?
I ride the curving waves in ecstasy,
The song of surf singing in my veins!
NASA Administrator Charles Bolden answers a question from the audience after providing a keynote address at the Human Space Exploration: The Next Steps event on Wednesday, Oct. 28, 2015 at The Center for American Progress in Washington DC. Administrator Bolden spoke about the future of human exploration in the context of NASA’s Journey to Mars. Photo Credit: (NASA/Aubrey Gemignani)
One of the many beautiful Art Deco buildings along Ocean Drive in South Beach.
Different perspective: flickr.com/photos/ohadby/84574434/
More on my photoblog: ohad.me
Why do many parts of Düsseldorf's Old Town look so run down? One possible answer is that the Altstadt was heavily destroyed during World War II and only partially rebuilt. The Altstadt is the historic center of the city, which was granted city rights in 1288 and is still home to many sights such as the City Hall, the Kunstsammlung Nordrhein-Westfalen and the St. Lambertus Church. The Old Town is also known for its numerous pubs, discos and restaurants, which have earned it the nickname "the longest bar in the world". This high density of gastronomy and nightlife leads to a high number of visitors and a lot of wear and tear on the buildings and the streetscape. The old town is therefore a place full of contrasts between history and modernity, between culture and party.
Answering an early morning phonecall in her kitchen, she works tirelessly around the clock. She is the epitomy of a modern day hero, since I don't need to look at the Lance Armstrongs and the Steve Waughs of this world to get inspiration, it's usually the unheralded work going on like madness all day long which is enough to humble anyone who notices.
This chart is based on an attempt to show some ideas from the book Prayer: Does It Make Any Difference?, by Phillip Yancey. (Zondervan, 2006) Yancey's book is not a quick read. It's very thorough, although the reading level is not a challenge. The answer to his title question is that yes, it does, although worthwhile prayer is hard, and often discouraging work.
The background is modified from a photo of ice crystals on a car's front windshield, taken from inside the car.
I have blogged about this book, and expanded on the graphic a little, here.
Thanks for looking!
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind.
Bob Dylan pondered many questions in that iconic song. And of course, there answers were, well, blowin’ in the wind. And that in turn conjures up images of things blowing in the wind, and what better thing to represent that than a simple reed?
We hum (or sing if we are so inclined) that song quite a lot, but often, with a surprisingly cheery lilt. Yet, when it comes down to it, the song isn’t really about cheery things at all, and the questions it asks are not easy ones to ask or answer. Mountains washing to the sea? Cannon balls flying? Doves “sleeping” in the sand?
This tune was indeed running through my head as I was composing this shot. I didn’t, and don’t, have any answers, but it seemed to me that this shot represented the song quite well. The wind for me continues to blow: perhaps one day it will carry to me the answers.
Uploading two today, since they go together!
These photos were both inspired by the independent film Red Kingdom Rising, which is a very dark look at abuse through the lens of the dreamworld and Alice in Wonderland. There are really beautiful, stunning scenes everywhere in the movie, and it carries such power within itself that I wanted to do a few photos inspired by it.
Trevor Wayne is the wonderful model for both of these shots. I highly recommend seeing Red Kingdom Rising!
It's the last few weeks to get in on my campaign to raise funds for Chronic Fatigue Syndrome research! There is a desperate need for more answers about the disease. From now until August 31s, 50% of all profits from print sales and my online self-discovery-through-photography course Introspective will be donated to the CFIDS; an organization actively doing research into CFS. You can also donate directly to the CFIDS, of course. Please help spread the word about this; the more people this reaches, the better!
Haii people xD So, I got a lot of questions from my friends, so I thought I would start this one off! Here we go :3 Oh yeah, this photo I took in the mall a few days ago xD
Who was your first Bratz doll? My first doll was First Edition Cloe. But, she's gone now, and I'm still looking for one in a good condition.
What's up with you and Blondie? xD Well, we talk in school a tad, and we text alot, but I'm afraid to get close to him like I was. Let's just say his girlfriend wants me to jump out of an airplane....without a parachute.
Who would bully you? That's a good question. Honestly, I think it's the people that are prissy and bitchy. Why? Because I'm different. I don't like being a stuck up slut. I like being a freak.
How many dolls do you have? Well, in total with every type of doll I have....I'd say around 150, maybe more O_O
When will results be up? Results will be up before the weekend :) Just school got in the way again ._.
How are you doing? I'm doing pretty good, just tired xD
Why do you have better taste in music than me? xD! I didn't know I did x3
Do you like jerkey? Weell...I'm a vegitarian so...no xD
Why am I asking so much? Because you can xD
What's your fave movie? Hmmm....I like all the National Treasures, Goonies, all Pokemon movies, and Love and Other Drugs. I can't choose one xD
Whos your celeb crush? Avan Jogia <333333333333333333333
What kind of socks are you wearing? I don't have any socks on :O
Who's your fave MH? Either Frankie or Ghoulia :D
Whos your fave bratz doll? In my collection...It's a tie between Jenna and Misty :)
Do you like the 10/10/10 Bratz better than the Bratz now? Nope, I hate almost all the new Bratz right now. I don't like the body shape, nor the faceups. I usually buy for clothing. xD
How long is your hair? It goes down to the bottom of my back...Idk how long that is exactally >.>
What is your religion? I'm Protestant, but I don't go to church...I'm not really a die hard religious girl, but I (for the most part) believe in God, Jesus, etc.
Whos your fave singer? Taylor Swift :D If you ask me what band, I will not be able to tell you. I will combust.
What pets do you have? I have a 28 year old slider/box/mud (we really don't know xD) turtle named Mr. T, and a Domestic Shorthaired cat that's 2 years old. Her name is Little Miss Kitters ^O^
Do you have any deformaties? I started laughing when I read this question xD I AM NOT AN ANIMAL. I AM A HUMAN BEING. (old movie reference xD) And well...Hmm....the whites of my eyes aren't white. They're a light blue. My doctor said it's because I was supposed to be blue eyed, but it faded and just never really...left. xD And I'm short. xD I can't think of any others!
If you had to eat either 16 raw steaks, or 500 Fire Ants, which would you pick? Uhhmm...Again, being a vegitarian I can't eat the steaks...So...I'm stuck with Fire Ants a la EWW. xD
What is your wishlist for Bratz dolls? I have many on the list, I'll make a seperate photo for that. But, my number one doll right now is Sweet Dreams Sierra I believe :D
How do you cut doll hair? I'm really not that good at it xD I usually brush it out, get it wet, straighten it, then cut to the length I want to. If I screw it all up, I figure out some way to make it work.
How do you get rid of bangs on a bratz doll? I just cut them off as close to the roots, then I go back with a nail clipper and rip out the little pieces left. xD
Please, ask more questions so I can do another photo! :D
Finding Meaning in Life
Finding Meaning in Life - How Can We Understand the Meaning of Life?
Finding meaning in life has been the ultimate goal since the beginning of mankind. It seems inherent in our nature to ask questions such as "Where did I come from? How did I get here? What's my purpose on earth? Where do I go when I die? What's the meaning of all this?" These questions reveal the ultimate search for truth and purpose in life; the reason we were born, wake up every day and exist. Many of us have stopped asking these questions.
Finding Meaning in Life –Reflection
The "Meaning of Life" has been replaced by the day-to-day rat race of work, automobile and the mortgage. Maybe it's time to sit and reflect a moment. Maybe it's time to ask the questions again, and truly examine the potential answers.
The weapons and art of this booth was created by high school students from Alva, OK. Sales went back to the students.
Spay & Neuter or answer to the Green Spooter...
Next installment of my:
"Learn Dogmototive Photography in a Flash" project.
kelbyone.com/course/twallace_onelightcars/
Strobist:
1) Black Beauty shot at "Hot Rod City" Movie Car Museum, Las Vegas utilizing the Tim Wallace One Flash-Multi Exposure Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique.
www.hotrodcitylasvegas.com/fired with Phottix Odins.
2) Green Spooter & Kato shot in my car in the garage, one speedlight on front seat, another in Westcott strip box CR. Odins.
3) Gotham, shot cruising Las Vegas Blvd one Saturday afternoon.
4) Super Moon shot a couple of super moons ago...
Phlearn, Glyn Dewis, Topaz, Repeat....
and BTW, THIS is what we're talking about...I just got this email from Animal Network Las Vegas:
"Ellis Is An Owner Surrender Senior Dog That is Looking For A Forever Home or Foster
What a sad situation for Ellie. Her owner is terminally ill, so she wanted to make sure her three babies, Rebel, Shooter and Ellie were taken care of before she passes on.
They were her life, and she wants whats best for them, so she is sending them off to find a new, safe and secure home where they will be loved as much as she loved them..If you would like to meet this sweet girl, then please email AdoptMeTodayAN@aol.com. "
www.petfinder.com/petdetail/31331518/
Don't Shop - Adopt.
& Spay Neuter.
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.
I got tagged to answer these five questions:
1. My favorite song right now is the cover Toro Y Moi did of Master Of None, I've seriously been listening to it none stop for months.
2. I don't really have a good memory of all the text messages I've gotten, so I can't really remember the nicest one I've ever gotten.
3. My favorite place in the world... that's hard to say because I haven't been to many places yet, and I actually want to visit it first before I call it my favorite place in the world. It would be somewhere beautiful though, but I'm sure anyone would guess that.
4. My favorite food would be chocolate? Maybe? It always takes me a long time to come up with an answer to this particular question.
5. I had a favorite word but I can't remember what it was right now.
Haha wow I feel like I did a crappy job at answering these questions.
The weather was great! *Thank You Lord!*
From i-Group outing, Hadsan Beach.
Thanks gang for the laughter! (happy birthday i-pres and i-cute)
EDITED PHOTO IN COMMENTS !
----------------------------------------------------------------
From ocean to sky
Summer and fall
I have been there though it all
From laughing and crying
To pain that comes easy
From shades of gray meaning
That turn out so sweetly
I wonder when
I wonder what I'll find...
I look up to the sun
It only hurts my eyes
Maybe it's the answer
I've been wanting in disguise
The more you are with me
The more that I'm alone
I don't need the answer I already know
Subtle and grace
Desperate for change
My hand moves away
Melt dry eyes for days
Something's not right
Smiles and tantrums
Hit the ground running
It's all over and been done
I wonder when
I wonder I'll find...
I look up to the sun
It only hurts my eyes
Maybe it's the answer
I've been wanting in disguise
The more you are with me
The more that I'm alone
I don't need the answer I already know
What happens next?
We'll stop and go
The promises has already run cold
So now you know
So now you know
I look up to the sun
It only hurts my eyes
Maybe it's the answer
I've been wanting in disguise
The more you are with me
The more that I'm alone
I don't need the answer
The answer
I look up to the sun
It only hurts my eyes
Maybe it's the answer
I've been wanting in disguise
The more you are with me
The more that I'm alone
I don't need the answer I already know
The question:
New Zealand is in the unenviable position of having one of the highest drowning rates per capita in the OECD, approximately twice that of Australia. Why are there far fewer drownings (per capita) in Australia than in New Zealand?
Without a mangrove in sight, they only answer to Gray Snapper down here.
Mangrove Snapper
or Gray Snapper
Lutjanus griseus
Looe Key Sanctuary Preservation Area
Florida Keys National Marine Sanctuary (FKNMS)
Monore County, Florida, USA
Olympus OM-D E-M5 Mark II
Olympus 14-42mm II R Lens
PT-EP13 Underwater Housing,
PPZR-EP02 Lens Port
& 14-42mm Zoom Gear
Sea Life Cameras
Sea Dragon 1200 & 2000 Underwater Light
25 September 2019
#1stPixLooeKey
Phil's 1stPix Instagram Phil's 1stpix Instagram
Phil's 1stPix on iNaturalist-Observation Map iNaturalist: Observations
Phil's 1stPix on iNaturalist- Species Grid iNaturalist: Species