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Sorry folks for all the shots..I need to move on, but he was so much fun capturing..I'm not going out there to see him for a few days..I only have about 500 pics of this lil poser..LOL
Mardi Himal Trekking is one of the finest trekking trail in Annapurna region and offer extra ordinary mountain views.
I'm now selling prints, framed or otherwise, in a range of sizes. If anyone wishes to buy any of my images please get in touch via Flickr or facebook. Thank you.
This was a quick shot I managed to grab on my birthday last week. It's not my best image but this is pretty close to what I was looking at and a great sunset for the start of my 32nd year! I did have to abandon the car in the middle of some traffic at a dangerous enough crossroads but eh...
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XgSPVhwqjX0
It’s in the way she often calls me out
It’s in the curve of your pretty gown
Your come on legs and your pantyhose
You look so precious with your bloody nose
We gonna come together, We gonna celebrate
We gonna gather round, like it’s your birthday
I don’t wanna know, just what I’m gonna do
I don’t care where you’re going, I’m coming along with you
Walking her home with the grassy field
Falling and laughing at the drinks we spilled
Just one of those nights that I have to share
She’s in a daze, without a care
Kings of Leon is an American rock band that originated in Albion, Oklahoma but formed in Nashville, Tennessee in 1999. The band is composed of brothers Anthony Caleb Followill (b. January 14, 1982, lead vocals, rhythm guitar), Ivan Nathan Followill (b. June 26, 1979, drums, percussion, backing vocals) and Michael Jared Followill (b. November 20, 1986, bass guitar, backing vocals), with their cousin Cameron Matthew Followill (b. September 10, 1984, lead guitar, backing vocals). The group is named for their grandfather Leon from Talihina, Oklahoma.
The band's early music was an upbeat blend of Southern rock and blues influences, but it has gradually expanded over the years to include a variety of genres and a more alternative, arena rock sound. Kings of Leon achieved initial success in the United Kingdom with a total of nine Top 40 singles, two BRIT Awards in 2008, and all three of the band's albums at the time peaking in the top five of the UK Albums Chart. Their third album, Because of the Times, also reached the No. 1 spot. After the release of Only by the Night in September 2008 the band achieved chart success in the United States. The singles "Sex on Fire", "Use Somebody", and "Notion" all peaked at No. 1 on the Hot Modern Rock Tracks chart. The album itself was their first ever Platinum-selling album in the United States, and was also the best-selling album of 2008 in Australia, being certified Platinum nine times. The band's fifth album, Come Around Sundown, was released on October 18, 2010.
Prompted by the upcoming release of IQ84 by Haruki Murakami, and the possibility of him winning the nobel prize for literature, I decided to talk a little bit about my favorite author (and other authors).
Here is a grainy impression of what my "real books" shelf has on it. This is the zone of the book shelf that I read from most often (if I'm not getting and/or reading something new, that is). This shelf is out in the living room which has crappity light for photos at night time, so I will try and replace this with a larger and more well lit photo tomorrow.
What you see here are basically some of my favorite books of all time, some of them have been for up to 15 years… for example "Lizard" and "Kitchen" have been favorites since my mid-teens, whereas "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle" has been a favorite for about 12 years now (the Japanese version, as well… though I have to admit to only having read the missing chapters… there are chapters missing in the English adaptation, which is what prompted me to originally get the Japanese set back about 11 years ago).
There are also differences between the soft and hardcover versions of the Japanese, though I'll also admit I'm not skilled enough yet to be able to just SIT and ENJOY the books in Japanese yet (as one would with a book in their native language)… they are still mostly study aides, taken a few pages at a time when the mood strikes.
I have more books than this, obviously, but a lot of them are "guilty pleasure" books… no, not romance novels, I just mean books I read once but that didn't leave a very lasting impression on me. Also, all of my manga and most of my study books are in my office, and I have already done some talking about them on flickr a few times before. :) These here are gathered together because they are the most important to me, personally. I've read most of them more than once, and about half of them closer to 5 times. Wind-Up Bird I've read probably upwards of 7 full times over the last 12 years.
Starting with the books on top there, on the left first...
- "What I Talk About When I Talk About Running" - Haruki Murakami
this is the only book in the picture that I haven't read yet. I started it but it is not like his usual, and I'm finding it a little hard to get rolling and interested. I kind of wish that "Underground" was in this picture instead (but it's currently next to my bed). "Underground" I first finished reading while on my honeymoon in Japan… which is quite possibly the best place to read it, as I was able to strongly visualize EXACTLY where many of the events (real events of the Sarin Gas Attack) took place on the Tokyo subway lines.
- "Idoru" - William Gibson
I actually wish "Robot Visions" by Isaac Asimov was here instead… but "Idoru" still an interesting book. It might bother people who really know their Japanese pop culture in depth, but as a quick bite to eat, I rather enjoy it from time to time.
- 異邦人 - アルベール・カミュ
"The Stranger" - Albert Camus… in Japanese, paperback.
- B級BANANA- 吉本ばなな
- パイナツプリン - 吉本ばなな
Two books (essays) by Banana Yoshimoto that I do not think have been translated to English. I used these for reading practice from time to time.
- ねじまき鳥クロニクル 〜泥棒かささぎ編
- ねじまき鳥クロニクル 〜予言する鳥編
- ねじまき鳥クロニクル 〜鳥刺し男編
- 村上春樹
The three books in the series "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle" by Haruki Murakami by favorite book(s) of all time), in Japanese, paperback. I also have the first two volumes in hardcover which I finally was able to find while in Japan. Additionally I picked up the French language paperback while I was in France a few years ago. I also have this book twice in English (one of which I bought for my husband before we lived together). I've also bought this book (in English) for several other people in my life as the years have gone by. It is the one book that I recommend to people that I am willing to put forward the money to assure they get a copy, lol.
Next to those is a stack of…
- Atlas Shrugged - Ayn Rand
- Lizard
- Kitchen
- NP
- Asleep
- Goodbye Tsugumi
all by Banana Yoshimoto
Now the bottom, starting from the left…
- After Dark
- Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman
- The Elephant Vanishes
- Kafka on the Shore
- Sputnik Sweetheart
- Norwegian Wood
- South of the Border, West of the Sun
- Hard Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World
- A Wild Sheep Chase
- The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle
all by Haruki Murakami… hey, I told you he was my favorite. lol
- The Diamond Age - Neal Stephenson
Excellent, excellent book… I highly recommend this to basically everyone. lol
- 象の消滅 （短篇選集 1980-1991）- 村上春樹
"The Elephant Vanishes" short story anthology, by Haruki Murakami in Japanese, paperback
Apart from Wind-Up Bird... I would highly recommend "The Elephant Vanishes" to those who want to get a quick taste of Murakami's style before delving into one of his novels. Wind-Up bird is upward of 600 pages long, which is daunting for some folks... so if that bothers you, start with this book first, and see how it goes. :)
- ねじまき鳥クロニクル ～泥棒かささぎ編
- ねじまき鳥クロニクル ～予言する鳥編
- 村上春樹
again… the first two volumes of the hardcover of "Wind-Up Bird" in Japanese by Haruki Murakami
- The Fountainhead - Ayn Rand
This was my first introduction to the work of Ayn Rand. The person who told me to read this book intended for me to see how "evil" and "bad" she was. I am always a skeptic, so went into reading it without thinking about what the person had told me about her. After this, and some additional research about her, I ended up discovering someone (her) who understood and could verbalize things I always felt but was not articulate enough myself to put into words. Oh... and by the way, she is not bad nor evil... she is exactly the opposite.
- "The God Delusion" - Richard Dawkins
I have several books by him, one of them I have misplaced, and the other two are by my bedside waiting to be re-read in one case, and read for the first time in another case. I highly recommend this book, also, to almost everyone.
Finally, one that is slightly cut off here…
"Cats Are Not Peas - a Calico History of Genetics" - Laura Gould
This book is one of the things that first got me deeply interested in genetics, and which I would also recommend to anyone who is interested in discovering basic genetics and / or loves cats, hehehe.
There are also several books that I wish could also be in this photo. Two of those, for example, being "The Dragons of Eden" and "Cosmos" by Carl Sagan... I highly, highly recommend both... again, to everyone.
December always brings a change in the weather for the Lowcountry and Sea Islands. Cool snaps turn to warm humid nights and then to chilly mornings. Fog has become an almost daily occurrence, rolling in from the sea and forming ribbons of white along the marshy estuaries.
I had my camera with me and stopped on the way to work where the road crosses the head of Broad Creek on Hilton Head. Three egrets were sharing an early morning conversation on a hand-built oyster bateaux.
I saw him through the open door of the shoe store and asked if it was alright to make a picture.
"Sure, go ahead."
"What's your name?", I asked.
"Din," he answered.
"Like James Dean?", I wondered.
"Something like it."
But when he wrote down his name in my notebook, he spelled it Din.
Din is a musician and a song writer.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=2IiOeSCpU5c#t=86
www.youtube.com/watch?v=mA7e2ZyMvxs
This is my 184th submission to The Human Family group.
Visit the group here to see more portraits and stories: www.flickr.com/groups/thehumanfamily.
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.
That´s my son.,, always happy, always smiling…no greater gift for a mother.. Nice weekend to you all..
..while we look at the sky
d90-self-portrait @ stansbury island, utah
2 blended images + texture
(both persons in this photo are me)
Explored Sep 20, 2009 #324
With a non-standard 'Raspberry-Ripple' paint scheme and a nose mounted trials-based experimental 'optical' system, 'Sikorsky' built Westland Sea King HAS.1 XV371 making an approach to Shoreham back in July 1981.
Four original 'SH-3D' Sea King airframes were built by Sikorsky as the basis of Westland's licence built Sea King production for the Royal Navy and Royal Air Force.
All four were then shipped to the UK, XV370 being delivered already fitted with the standard General Electric T58 Engines and on arrival was flown from the docks at Avonmouth to Westland's factory at Yeovil.
The remaining three arrived at Yeovil engine-less and were roaded there being subsequently fitted with Rolls-Royce Gnome Engines, all to become the trials airframes.
Westlands were tasked by the Navy to design and upgrade the airframes, as although externally similar to the US built Sea King, the UK versions were inwardly a very different machine to the standard Sikorsky built SH-3 variants that the US Navy operated.
Of the four airframes acquired, after their initial use at Westlands, the first XV370, spent most of it's subsequent life with the ETPS at Boscombe Down ending up with the AES at HMS Sultan as an Instructional Airframe. XV371 spent it's life with the RAE at Bedford, XV372 was written-off in an accident in January 1969 and XV373 found it's way to the gunnery ranges at Foulness.
The Westland version of the Sea King was widely exported to, amongst others: Australia Belgium, Egypt, Germany, India, Norway, Pakistan and Qatar.
Scanned 35mm Transparency
Painting Cabinet 12
François Boucher (1703 - 1770), active in Italy and Paris
Shepherd and Shepherdess, 1760
Oil on canvas
Staatliche Kunsthalle Karlsruhe
The pastoral idyll is a genre reaching back to antiquity. It designs the ideal image of free casual love and harmonious unison between man and nature. Here rests a shepherd couple in intimate affection at a forest edge. The young man is picking roses for the small flower basket of his beloved one. A sheep and a little dog - more a lapdog than a shepherd - frame the couple. About this painting and its counterpart Karoline Luise wrote to her Parisian mediator Eberts in 1760: "Thank Mr Boucher in my name and tell him please that he has really enriched my cabinet with his beautiful work."
Malereikabinett 12
François Boucher (1703 - 1770), tätig in Italien und Paris
Schäfer und Schäferin, 1760
Öl auf Leinwand
Staatliche Kunsthalle Karlsruhe
Die Hirtenidylle ist ein bis in die Antike zurückreichende Gattung. Sie entwirft das ideale Bild freier ungezwungener Liebe und eine harmonischen Einklanges von Mensch und Natur. Hier lagert ein Schäferpaar in inniger Zuneigung an einem Waldesrand. Der junge Mann pflückt Rosen für deas Blumenkörbchen seiner Angebeteten. Ein Schaf und ein Hündchen - - mehr Schoßhündchen als Schäferhund - rahmen das Paar. Über dieses Gemälde und sein Gegenstück schrieb Karoline Luise an ihren Pariser Vermittler Ebert 1760: "Danken Sie Mr. Boucher in meinem Namen und sagen Sie ihm bitte, dass er mein Cabinet mit seinen schönen Arbeiten wirklich bereichert."
Collection
The foundation of the collection consists of 205 mostly French and Dutch paintings from the 17th and 18th centuries which Margravine Karoline Luise acquired 1759-1776. From this collection originate significant works, such as The portrait of a young man by Frans van Mieris the Elder, The winter landscape with lime kiln of Nicolaes Pieterszoon Berchem, The Lacemaker by Gerard Dou, the Still Life with hunting equipment and dead partridge of Willem van Aelst, The Peace in the Chicken yard by Melchior de Hondecoeter as well as a self-portrait by Rembrandt van Rijn. In addition, four still lifes of Jean Siméon Chardin and two pastoral scenes by François Boucher, having been commissioned directly by the Marchioness from artists.
A first significant expansion the museum received in 1858 by the collection of canon Johann Baptist von Hirscher (1788-1865) with works of religious art of the 15th and 16th centuries. This group includes works such as two tablets of the Sterzinger altar and the wing fragment The sacramental blessing of Bartholomew Zeitblom. From 1899 to 1920, the native of Baden painter Hans Thoma held the position of Director of the Kunsthalle. He acquired old masterly paintings as the tauberbischofsheim altarpiece by Matthias Grünewald and drove the expansion of the collection with art of the 19th century forward. Only his successors expanded the holdings of the Art Gallery with works of Impressionism and the following generations of artists.
The permanent exhibition in the main building includes approximately 800 paintings and sculptures. Among the outstanding works of art of the Department German painters of the late Gothic and Renaissance are the Christ as Man of Sorrows by Albrecht Dürer, the Carrying of the Cross and the Crucifixion by Matthias Grünewald, Maria with the Child by Lucas Cranach the Elder, the portrait of Sebastian Brant by Hans Burgkmair the elder and The Nativity of Hans Baldung. Whose Margrave panel due to property disputes in 2006 made it in the headlines and also led to political conflicts. One of the biggest buying successes which a German museum in the postwar period was able to land concerns the successive acquisition of six of the seven known pieces of a Passion altar in 1450 - the notname of the artist after this work "Master of the Karlsruhe Passion" - a seventh piece is located in German public ownership (Wallraf-Richartz Museum, Cologne).
In the department of Dutch and Flemish paintings of the 16th century can be found, in addition to the aforementioned works, the portrait of the Marchesa Veronica Spinola Doria by Peter Paul Rubens, Moses strikes the rock and water flows for the thirsty people of Israel of Jacob Jordaens, the still life with kitchen tools and foods of Frans Snyders, the village festival of David Teniers the younger, the still life with lemon, oranges and filled clay pot by Willem Kalf, a Young couple having breakfast by Gabriel Metsu, in the bedroom of Pieter de Hooch, the great group of trees at the waterfront of Jacob Izaaksoon van Ruisdael, a river landscape with a milkmaid of Aelbert Jacobsz. Cuyp as well as a trompe-l'œil still life of Samuel van Hoogstraten.
Further examples of French paintings of the 17th and 18th centuries are, the adoration of the golden calf of Claude Lorrain, preparations for dance class of the Le Nain brothers, the portrait of Marshal Charles-Auguste de Matignon by Hyacinthe Rigaud, the portrait of a young nobleman in hunting costume of Nicolas de Largillière, The storm of Claude Joseph Vernet and The minuet of Nicolas Lancret. From the 19th century can be found with Rocky wooded valley at Civita Castellana by Gustave Courbet, The Lamentation of Eugène Delacroix, the children portrait Le petit Lange of Édouard Manet, the portrait of Madame Jeantaud by Edgar Degas, the landscape June morning near Pontoise by Camille Pissarro, homes in Le Pouldu Paul Gauguin and views to the sea at L'Estaque by Paul Cézanne further works of French artists at Kunsthalle.
One focus of the collection is the German painting and sculpture of the 19th century. From Joseph Anton Koch, the Kunsthalle possesses a Heroic landscape with rainbow, from Georg Friedrich Kersting the painting The painter Gerhard Kügelgen in his studio, from Caspar David Friedrich the landscape rocky reef on the sea beach and from Karl Blechen view to the Monastery of Santa Scolastica. Other important works of this department are the disruption of Adolph Menzel as well as the young self-portrait, the portrait Nanna Risi and The Banquet of Plato of Anselm Feuerbach.
For the presentation of the complex of oeuvres by Hans Thoma, a whole wing in 1909 at the Kunsthalle was installed. Main oeuvres of the arts are, for example, the genre picture The siblings as well as, created on behalf of the grand-ducal family, Thoma Chapel with its religious themes.
Of the German contemporaries of Hans Thoma, Max Liebermann on the beach of Noordwijk and Lovis Corinth with a portrait of his wife in the museum are represented. Furthermore the Kunsthalle owns works by Ferdinand Georg Waldmüller, Carl Spitzweg, Arnold Böcklin, Hans von Marées, Wilhelm Leibl, Fritz von Uhde, Wilhelm Trübner and Max Klinger.
In the building of the adjacent Orangerie works of the collection and new acquisitions from the years after 1952 can be seen. In two integrated graphics cabinets the Kupferstichkabinett (gallery of prints) gives insight into its inventory of contemporary art on paper. From the period after 1945, the works Arabs with footprints by Jean Dubuffet, Sponge Relief RE 48; Sol. 1960 by Yves Klein, Honoring the square: Yellow center of Josef Albers, the cityscape F by Gerhard Richter and the Fixe idea by Georg Baselitz in the Kunsthalle. The collection of classical modernism wandered into the main building. Examples of paintings from the period to 1945 are The Eiffel Tower by Robert Delaunay, the Improvisation 13 by Wassily Kandinsky, Deers in the Forest II by Franz Marc, People at the Blue lake of August Macke, the self-portrait The painter of Ernst Ludwig Kirchner, the Merzpicture 21b by Kurt Schwitters, the forest of Max Ernst, Tower gate II by Lyonel Feininger, the Seven Deadly Sins of Otto Dix and the removal of the Sphinxes by Max Beckmann. In addition, the museum regularly shows special exhibitions.
Sammlung
Den Grundstock der Sammlung bilden 205 meist französische und niederländische Gemälde des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts, welche Markgräfin Karoline Luise zwischen 1759 und 1776 erwarb. Aus dieser Sammlung stammen bedeutende Arbeiten, wie das Bildnis eines jungen Mannes von Frans van Mieris der Ältere, die Winterlandschaft mit Kalkofen von Nicolaes Pieterszoon Berchem, Die Spitzenklöpplerin von Gerard Dou, das Stillleben mit Jagdgeräten und totem Rebhuhn von Willem van Aelst, Der Friede im Hühnerhof von Melchior de Hondecoeter sowie ein Selbstbildnis von Rembrandt van Rijn. Hinzu kommen vier Stillleben von Jean Siméon Chardin und zwei Schäferszenen von François Boucher, die die Markgräfin bei Künstlern direkt in Auftrag gegeben hatte.
Eine erste wesentliche Erweiterung erhielt das Museum 1858 durch die Sammlung des Domkapitulars Johann Baptist von Hirscher (1788–1865) mit Werken religiöser Kunst des 15. und 16. Jahrhunderts. Zu dieser Gruppe gehören Werke wie zwei Tafeln des Sterzinger Altars und das Flügelfragment Der sakramentale Segen von Bartholomäus Zeitblom. Von 1899 bis 1920 bekleidete der aus Baden stammende Maler Hans Thoma die Position des Direktors der Kunsthalle. Er erwarb altmeisterliche Gemälde wie den Tauberbischofsheimer Altar von Matthias Grünewald und trieb den Ausbau der Sammlung mit Kunst des 19. Jahrhunderts voran. Erst seine Nachfolger erweiterten die Bestände der Kunsthalle um Werke des Impressionismus und der folgenden Künstlergenerationen.
Die Dauerausstellung im Hauptgebäude umfasst rund 800 Gemälde und Skulpturen. Zu den herausragenden Kunstwerken der Abteilung deutsche Maler der Spätgotik und Renaissance gehören der Christus als Schmerzensmann von Albrecht Dürer, die Kreuztragung und Kreuzigung von Matthias Grünewald, Maria mit dem Kinde von Lucas Cranach der Ältere, das Bildnis Sebastian Brants von Hans Burgkmair der Ältere und die Die Geburt Christi von Hans Baldung. Dessen Markgrafentafel geriet durch Eigentumsstreitigkeiten 2006 in die Schlagzeilen und führte auch zu politischen Auseinandersetzungen. Einer der größten Ankaufserfolge, welche ein deutsches Museum in der Nachkriegszeit verbuchen konnte, betrifft den sukzessiven Erwerb von sechs der sieben bekannten Tafeln eines Passionsaltars um 1450 – der Notname des Malers nach diesem Werk „Meister der Karlsruher Passion“ – eine siebte Tafel befindet sich in deutschem öffentlichen Besitz (Wallraf-Richartz Museum, Köln).
In der Abteilung niederländischer und flämischer Malerei des 16. Jahrhunderts finden sich, neben den erwähnten Werken, das Bildnis der Marchesa Veronica Spinola Doria von Peter Paul Rubens, Moses schlägt Wasser aus dem Felsen von Jacob Jordaens, das Stillleben mit Küchengeräten und Lebensmitteln von Frans Snyders, das Dorffest von David Teniers dem Jüngeren, das Stillleben mit Zitrone, Orangen und gefülltem Römer von Willem Kalf, ein Junges Paar beim Frühstück von Gabriel Metsu, Im Schlafzimmer von Pieter de Hooch, die Große Baumgruppe am Wasser von Jacob Izaaksoon van Ruisdael, eine Flusslandschaft mit Melkerin von Aelbert Jacobsz. Cuyp sowie ein Augenbetrüger-Stillleben von Samuel van Hoogstraten.
Weitere Beispiele französischer Malerei des 17. bzw. 18. Jahrhunderts sind Die Anbetung des Goldeen Kalbes von Claude Lorrain, die Vorbereitung zur Tanzstunde der Brüder Le Nain, das Bildnis des Marschalls Charles-Auguste de Matignon von Hyacinthe Rigaud, das Bildnis eines jungen Edelmannes im Jagdkostüm von Nicolas de Largillière, Der Sturm von Claude Joseph Vernet und Das Menuett von Nicolas Lancret. Aus dem 19. Jahrhundert finden sich mit Felsiges Waldtal bei Cività Castellana von Gustave Courbet, Die Beweinung Christi von Eugène Delacroix, dem Kinderbildnis Le petit Lange von Édouard Manet, dem Bildnis der Madame Jeantaud von Edgar Degas, dem Landschaftsbild Junimorgen bei Pontoise von Camille Pissarro, Häuser in Le Pouldu von Paul Gauguin und Blick auf das Meer bei L’Estaque von Paul Cézanne weitere Arbeiten französischer Künstler in der Kunsthalle.
Einen Schwerpunkt der Sammlung bildet die deutsche Malerei und Skulptur des 19. Jahrhunderts. Von Joseph Anton Koch besitzt die Kunsthalle eine Heroische Landschaft mit Regenbogen, von Georg Friedrich Kersting das Gemälde Der Maler Gerhard Kügelgen in seinem Atelier, von Caspar David Friedrich das Landschaftsbild Felsenriff am Meeresstrand und von Karl Blechen den Blick auf das Kloster Santa Scolastica. Weitere bedeutende Werke dieser Abteilung sind Die Störung von Adolph Menzel sowie das Jugendliche Selbstbildnis, das Bildnis Nanna Risi und Das Gastmahl des Plato von Anselm Feuerbach.
Für die Präsentation des Werkkomplexes von Hans Thoma wurde 1909 in der Kunsthalle ein ganzer Gebäudetrakt errichtet. Hauptwerke des Künstlers sind etwa das Genrebild Die Geschwister sowie die, im Auftrag der großherzöglichen Familie geschaffene, Thoma-Kapelle mit ihren religiösen Themen.
Von den deutschen Zeitgenossen Hans Thomas sind Max Liebermann mit Am Strand von Noordwijk und Lovis Corinth mit einem Bildnis seiner Frau im Museum vertreten. Darüber hinaus besitzt die Kunsthalle Werke von Ferdinand Georg Waldmüller, Carl Spitzweg, Arnold Böcklin, Hans von Marées, Wilhelm Leibl, Fritz von Uhde, Wilhelm Trübner und Max Klinger.
Im Gebäude der benachbarten Orangerie sind Werke der Sammlung und Neuankäufe aus den Jahren nach 1952 zu sehen. In zwei integrierten Grafikkabinetten gibt das Kupferstichkabinett Einblick in seinen Bestand zeitgenössischer Kunst auf Papier. Aus der Zeit nach 1945 finden sich die Arbeiten Araber mit Fußspuren von Jean Dubuffet, Schwammrelief >RE 48:Sol.1960< von Yves Klein, Ehrung des Quadrates: Gelbes Zentrum von Josef Albers, das Stadtbild F von Gerhard Richter und die Fixe Idee von Georg Baselitz in der Kunsthalle. Die Sammlung der Klassischen Moderne wanderte in das Hauptgebäude. Beispiele für Gemälde aus der Zeit bis 1945 sind Der Eiffelturm von Robert Delaunay, die Improvisation 13 von Wassily Kandinsky, Rehe im Wald II von Franz Marc, Leute am blauen See von August Macke, das Selbstbildnis Der Maler von Ernst Ludwig Kirchner, das Merzbild 21b von Kurt Schwitters, Der Wald von Max Ernst, Torturm II von Lyonel Feininger, Die Sieben Todsünden von Otto Dix und der Abtransport der Sphinxe von Max Beckmann. Darüber hinaus zeigt das Museum regelmäßig Sonderausstellungen.
Cristoff loves him self some Green Romaine Lettuce (great vitamins for him) .
He can eat 1/2 a leaf a day - 1/4 leaf at a time (thats all we let him have at the most).
He makes a huge piggy of himself eating it all up.
We find it so cute and funny when he has it stuck to his beak, like a small child eating chocolate and having it all over his face.. lol
This pict was taken just at "night night time" after he had, had his snack.
(Photo LRP)
The Pangbuche Himal across the valley, reaches nearly 22,000 feet and is heavily glaciered on its other side.
Meanwhile, I am still down there in the valley, supposedly recovering and preparing to cross the Lakya Pass, but in actual fact dealing with a horrendous attack of diarrhoea. It came, shall we say, with insufficient warning!! Dealing with the aftermath, with no hot water, no running water of any sort, only a bucket of icy cold water, wasn't the most fun I have had in recent times!
(I am telling you this because I wouldn't want people that are contemplating a trip like this to come away from looking at these photos believing it is all sunshine and shiny mountains!!)
I saw him just as he was crossing Yonge Street in downtown Toronto. Something about his casually stylish appearance, combined with his photogenic face called out to me. I made a left turn and followed him across the street where I made my introduction and explained my wish to photograph him for my project. He was surprised for a moment, but interested, and he said he had a few minutes and would be glad to participate. Meet Mathenes.
Looking around, I decided the south-facing salmon-colored stucco wall of a store across the street looked like the best option for a location, so we recrossed the street. Taking the photos involved capturing moments when pedestrians were not passing between us or between Mathenes and the wall. He was friendly and patient about it and didn’t object when I asked if we could tilt his hat back just a bit so that more light could reach his eyes. My initial attention had been on his face but when I noticed the patch on his jacket, I asked if he could flatten it a bit so it would show for one of the photos. It turned out to be a badge for the Toronto Football Club (soccer team). He told me he’s a big fan.
Mathenes is 37 and came to Canada from his native Nigeria at age 18. When I asked what prompted the family’s migration to Canada he said “Who wouldn’t want to come to Canada? It’s a great country and a good doorway to other countries.” I learned that he is an artist and a student and has a strong interest in automation. “Art and automation?” I asked. They seem so different. He smiled and said that the ongoing development of technology is affecting all fields.
I sensed a real friendliness and warmth in Mathenes and a genuine interest in being a part of my project. He had several pieces of advice for those who see his image and read this story. “Read the signs and you will always find your way home.” “Never forget the importance of tolerance.” “Life is an experience. Learn from it.” “Accept the unexpected.” I was struck by the depth of each of these. Regarding tolerance, I wondered if he was referring to racial tolerance and he said “Not really. It seems that tolerance is lacking in so many areas.” I agreed and commented on a motorist I saw get out of his car and scream insults at another motorist for being slow to react when a red light changed to green. “If he was like that in the morning, I can’t imagine what he would be like at the end of a stressful day at the office.” “I know what you mean” was Mathenes’ reply.
We parted company with mutual thanks and a handshake. I felt I had been in the company of a true gentleman. This is my 450th submission to The Human Family Group on Flickr.
You can view more street portraits and stories by visiting The Human Family.
© Ruby Huang, All Rights Reserved
He had this thingy in his right hand... it was not a pipe cause it did not look like it... or maybe it was... I tried to following him for a bit hoping I could catching him smoking it... failed!
I love the street lights here in the hipster town!
Thank you for the inspiration!
Instagram: @_rubysee
Caught my cameraman as he caught the ambulance...!
I work for Yorkshire Ambulance Service on the RRVs in and around the city of Sheffield in South Yorkshire.
It’s a great job and I feel very honoured to be able to help people at their point of need.
Check out the website for all sorts of info re YAS and the work we do.
Now available in store, and on MP
IN WORLD: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Demon/158/98/590
MP:https://marketplace.secondlife.com/p/Taste-Him-ADD-to-unbox/25269152