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Nothing quite says patriotism like a snowman! I like this because it was a gift from a former sister-in-law. She creates fun objects just the way she made our time together fun. I have been fortunate to have a lot of delightful people in my life. Those who bring whimsy into it are especially cherished.
ODC: Whimsical
An army jacket + Victorian embroidered frock = soldier of love. My aiguillette belt looks like the fabric used to cap soldiers’ shoulders, but it’s the perfect sized scrap to trim my waist. A delightfully gaudy necklace illustrates my singular aesthetic… Fashionshesays.com.
A mise-en-scène homage to Uncle Sam (1996). Cover variant: 1998, A-Pix Entertainment.
This photo is part of a collaboration I did with Lunchmeat VHS Magazine for the HOME VIDEO HORRORS 2017 Calendar. (Month of July)
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Governess: *screaming* NNNNIIIIIGGGEEELLLL!!!!! This child has brought yet another dead animal into this house and this time she has dressed them all in her doll clothes!!!! Beatrix! How will we ever marry you into a good family!?!
So silliness aside I have always been a huge fan of Beatrix Potter and I remember hearing as a child that she practiced sketching from dead animals she had found. Not sure about that but thought it would make a funny pic. But I Wiki-ed her today and found the most interesting fact about her:
From Wiki:
Scientific illustrations and work in mycology[edit]
Beatrix Potter's parents did not discourage higher education. As was common in the Victorian era, women of her class were privately educated and rarely went to university.[22]
Beatrix Potter was interested in every branch of natural science save astronomy.[23] Botany was a passion for most Victorians and nature study was a popular enthusiasm. Potter was eclectic in her tastes: collecting fossils,[24] studying archeological artefacts from London excavations, and interested in entomology. In all these areas she drew and painted her specimens with increasing skill. By the 1890s her scientific interests centred on mycology. First drawn to fungi because of their colours and evanescence in nature and her delight in painting them, her interest deepened after meeting Charles McIntosh, a revered naturalist and mycologist, during a summer holiday in Dunkeld in Perthshire in 1892. He helped improve the accuracy of her illustrations, taught her taxonomy, and supplied her with live specimens to paint during the winter. Curious as to how fungi reproduced, Potter began microscopic drawings of fungus spores (the agarics) and in 1895 developed a theory of their germination.[25] Through the connections of her uncle Sir Henry Enfield Roscoe, a chemist and vice-chancellor of the University of London, she consulted with botanists at Kew Gardens, convincing George Massee of her ability to germinate spores and her theory of hybridisation.[26] She did not believe in the theory of symbiosis proposed by Simon Schwendener, the German mycologist, as previously thought; rather she proposed a more independent process of reproduction.[27]
Rebuffed by William Thiselton-Dyer, the Director at Kew, because of her gender and her amateur status, Beatrix wrote up her conclusions and submitted a paper, On the Germination of the Spores of the Agaricineae, to the Linnean Society in 1897. It was introduced by Massee because, as a female, Potter could not attend proceedings or read her paper. She subsequently withdrew it, realising that some of her samples were contaminated, but continued her microscopic studies for several more years. Her paper has only recently been rediscovered, along with the rich, artistic illustrations and drawings that accompanied it. Her work is only now being properly evaluated.[28][29][30] Potter later gave her other mycological and scientific drawings to the Armitt Museum and Library in Ambleside, where mycologists still refer to them to identify fungi. There is also a collection of her fungus paintings at the Perth Museum and Art Gallery in Perth, Scotland donated by Charles McIntosh. In 1967 the mycologist W.P.K. Findlay included many of Potter's beautifully accurate fungus drawings in his Wayside & Woodland Fungi, thereby fulfilling her desire to one day have her fungus drawings published in a book.[31] In 1997 the Linnean Society issued a posthumous apology to Potter for the sexism displayed in its handling of her research.[32]
Uncle Scrooge / Heft-Reihe
[Dollar Bill Fan]
Gold Key Comics / Western Publishing Company (N.Y. / USA; 1978)
Copyright: Walt Disney Productions 1962, 1960, 1953
ex libris MTP
Out here in Scottsdale for my cousin's boy's Bar Mitzvah. Just learned that my uncle, who I'm deeply fond of, is known as Pops in these parts.
Uncle Sam Santa Claus brings gifts of corporate welfare.
The source image for this illustration is from a World War II poster titled "I want you for U.S. Army," designed by James Montgomery Flagg for the U.S. Army and available via the Library of Congress.
The field grave of an Soviet tank driver buried by Finns after the Battle of Tali–Ihantala. On a wooden cross is written the words "Uncle Russia". Finnish soldier from IR 12 looking at grave. July 11, 1944, Ihantala.
The Battle of Tali-Ihantala was the largest battle ever fought in the history of the Nordic countries. Despite the Soviets outnumbered the Finnish troops 3 to 1 (150,000 - 50,000), the Finnish forces achieved a defensive victory.
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Tali-Ihantalan taistelun jälkeen haudattu vihollisen panssarivaunun kuljettaja, jonka puiseen ristiin suomalainen sotilas kirjoittanut "Venäjän setä". Haudan vieressä pohjoisen miehistä kootun JR 12 eli Jänkäjääkäreiden sotilas, 11.7.1944, Ihantala.
Tali-Ihantala oli jatkosodan ratkaisutaistelu jossa oli mukana 50 000 suomalaista ja 150 000 neuvostosotilasta.
Taistelu päättyi suomalaisten torjuntavoittoon ja on suurin koskaan Pohjoismaissa käyty taistelu.
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[ sa-kuva | Hämäläinen | 155809 ]
Urbex Session : Uncle Sam (BE) , 03.2013
Follow me on facebook now www.facebook.com/pages/Bestarns-Pics/218906584873421
Thanks ;)
Urbex Session : Uncle Sam (BE) , 03.2013
Follow me on facebook now www.facebook.com/pages/Bestarns-Pics/218906584873421
Thanks ;)
Urbex Session : Uncle Sam (BE) , 03.2013
Follow me on facebook now www.facebook.com/pages/Bestarns-Pics/218906584873421
Thanks ;)
Uncle Vic reads a book about being thankful, starring Gerald and Piggie, to Stevie and Adan. ©2019 Billy Calzada
Flamboyant, "old school charming" and definitely marching to the beat of his own drummer, Uncle Albert has always been one of my favorite relatives.
He left home at an early age, attracted to the glamor of Hollywood where he found fame as a costume designer and notoriety for hosting some of the wildest parties Tinsel Town had ever seen. He was nominated for an Academy Award in 1971 for the film "Mary, Queen of Scots"
Totally fearless, Uncle Albert and his partner Philip were one of L.A.s first "out of the closet" couples.and despite the fact that Philip is a staunch Republican and Uncle Albert is a strong defender of government supported arts, they've been together close to fifty years.
In town for a family wedding, it was the perfect opportunity to do this portrait.
Thanks for all those great stories Uncle Albert, you da man!
On the grounds of the LSU Burden Center (off Essen Lane) in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.
Marker says:
"UNCLE JACK
This bronze sculpture of an elderly black man was created to memorialize the accomplishments and contributions of African-Americans in nineteenth century Louisiana. The statue was the brainchild of Jackson L. Bryan, who was born in Mansfield, Louisiana in 1868. Jack Bryan and his twin brother Joe played with African-Americans as children, worked with them as adults, and had a strong close association with African-Americans all their lives. Jack Bryan became a successful cotton planter mill owner and banker in Natchitoches, Louisiana. In 1926 he dedicated to commission and erect a statue 'dedicated to the faithful service of black people who had played an instrumental role in the building of Louisiana.'
Mr. Bryan selected Hans Schuler, Sr. (1874-1951) to sculpt and cast a statue in bronze for $4300.00. Hans Schuler had graduated from the Maryland Institute's Rinehart School of Sculpture in Baltimore, and was the first American sculptor to win a Gold Medal at the 1901 Paris Salon. He had a successful career, receiving numerous awards for his commissions throughout America. Schuler was known as the 'Monument Maker' for his statuary, busts and plaques displayed in public parks, churches, and museums. The 'Uncle Jack' scultpture is one of this best know works, renowned for its artistic merit.
The sculpture was erected in 1927 at the foot of Front Street in Natchitoches, Louisiana. Set in a small park, the statue became a major tourist attraction as a unique memorial to nineteenth century African-American workers. Local residents call it 'Uncle Jack' for Mr. Bryan. It has been know also as the 'Good Darky.' The original plaque read 'Dedicated to the arduous and faithful services of the good darkies of Louisiana.' Newspapers and magazines, including the National Geographic, contained articles and pictures of the sculpture and stated, 'A visit to Natchitoches was not complete without a visit to the statue.'"
-Jln Tun HS Lee, KL-
Nikon FM2 | Nikkor 50mm f1.8 | Fujifilm 36 200
NOTE: Uncle Wong owns a cake shop right in the heart of Kuala Lumpur, near Central Market. My friend introduced me to him, not for the cakes but for his expertise in analogue camera/lens repair. It was such an experience when I visited his cake shop, took out my camera and told him about the problem. The other customers look quite confused when a cake shop owner suddenly turned a camera expert. :-)
My Uncle Jim, killed in action at Hardecourt on the Somme 28 August 1918, aged eighteen.
My cousin Iain produced this booklet using a photograph taken at Chatham in May 1918.
Meet Uncle Fred,
Who lives in our shed,
Safe under chain, lock and key,
His parents are dead,
and some have said,
they couldn't live with the ignominy...
This thing they had bred,
was no child, but instead,
a throwback to pre-history;
When it first raised it's head,
the midwife had fled,
from such a horrid monstrosity.
Yet despite the the bloodshed,
Dad gave him a bed,
Where prying eyes could not see.
Now don't be misled,
we keep him well fed:
Road-kill for dinner and kittens for tea.
And though he fills us with dread,
We love Uncle Fred,
He is, after all, family.
In 1996 I was a third year medical student, spending nights and long days at the VA hospital in Tucson, AZ. Ten years later I still am more instantly comfortable in a VA then any other strange hospital, I suppose because of the governmental consistency of the rooms and halls. I'm still more scared of VA nurses then any others (although now with the benefit of hindsight I understand the frustration of dealing with endless streams of arrogant/clueless kids pretending to be doctors)
Anyway, I have special training in spending days and days in hospitals, but it's not the same when you're there for a family member. I choose to remember happier times.
Uncle Sam was part of "Birds of Prey" at the New York State Fair. Raptors from all over the world that are not releaseable mostly because of their injuries are all part of this educational program.
Rest Easy Johnny
2006-11-06
When I think back on the time I spent with my uncle, I have trouble pinpointing when I found out he was injecting prescription drugs.
Before my uncle moved into my house in the suburbs, I remember him getting married at city hall with his now ex-wife Val. After that were sporadic visits from time to time for Sunday lunches with the family, and of course Christmas. Every Christmas he’d come to the house with oysters which we would both shuck and eat with lemon juice. After my grandfather died, and my brother left for England, eating oysters at Christmas became our Christmas ritual as no one else liked the taste.
During the time he was married, or perhaps after he and his wife had split up, I sort of knew he had a drinking problem. When he took me and my cousin (his daughter) up north to go camping one weekend, I saw my uncle drunk and irritated. Camping was fun, but toward the end of every night when it was time for bed, his daughter didn’t want to sleep and slurred shouts were made and that was that.
Once Johnny moved into my house, everything sort of came into view quite quickly. Unemployed, he could not afford to drink, so he joined AA and was proud of his monthly poker chip style sobriety milestones. The milestones of course meant nothing. He may have not had a ‘drink’ at the pub, or kept peach schnapps under the bed, but if there was Nyquil in the house, you knew where to look for the empty bottle.
That’s when I found the needles. Soon after he moved in I had got the flu and my mom got me some Nyquil to help me sleep. I had the bottle in my room in the basement. My uncle’s room was in the basement as well. I remember getting home from school on a Friday and not being able to find it. My uncle left for his AA meeting and I went into his room and found the bottle empty. I rummaged through his dresser and found heaps of empty codeine bottles, blackened spoons, lighters, bloody cotton swabs, and needles. On one spoon was a greenish substance that looked almost like wassabi. The drawer was littered with bloody things. It was an eye-opener, but I kept it to myself.
I wasn’t naive of intravenous drug use. I grew up listening to the Sex Pistols and was interested in the life of Sid Vicious. I can remember being so utterly depressed by the movie Sid and Nancy. I read Junky and The Western Lands by William S. Burroughs and The Basketball Diaries by Jim Carroll. There were documentaries on A&E, PBS, and various other stations regarding various kinds of narcotic abuse. The “war on drugs” had educated me well on how and what people do to get up, down, and fucked.
It was easy to see when Uncle Johnny had just shot up. His eyes were glassy, his speech was slurred, and he moved in slow disjunctive movements. He fell asleep on the toilet, fell down the stairs, dozed off at dinner, and spent most of his time nodding off in his room watching TV or reading a book.
Throughout the month he would have to change injection points. Toward the end of the month was when he moved down to his ankles. That’s when I’d come home from high-school and have to wipe drops of blood from the kitchen and hallway floors.
The week before his disability payment he’d be broke and ‘off’. He’d get a haircut, talk more, eat more, be more visible, and have chronic diarrhea; a side effect of being ‘off’. That time of the month was the best time of the month. The time we would talk a lot and joke around.
Then I went to University.
I never talked to my uncle on the phone from University. If I did, I don’t remember. I saw him when I went back for visits, and of course at Christmas. The oyster ritual continued. At the end of a Christmas visit one year, I can remember going to his bedroom to say goodbye. His door was shut and I knocked a few times before opening the door to find him passed on his bed with his legs slung over the side with his pants around his ankles; a needle still dangling from a vein in his penis. For some reason I knew he wasn’t dead. I walked up to him and slapped him viciously hard in the face, and ran out. I was at the door getting ready to head to the airport and up came Johnny with his pants pulled up; his hands rubbing the cheek I had slapped. He said something incoherent and I left.
Sometime after that, I was at my apartment in Ottawa and my brother called to say there had been a fire at my house. No one was hurt in the fire, but my cat did succumb to smoke inhalation and had died. The fire had started in my uncle’s room. Apparently he had lit a cigar with a match and in his dosed-up state, had simply thrown the match onto a chair before going outside. The fire marshal noted that as most of the walls in the basement (finished by my grandfather) were made in the 1960’s out of cardboard thin sheets of wood, we were lucky the entire house didn’t go down. With a driveway full of firefighters, police, and neighbors, it was clear that my uncle was completely mashed. Because the house was my grandmothers, the fire marshal did a very kind thing and reported that the fire had been caused by faulty electrical work, hence, guaranteeing that insurance would pay for repairs. Nevertheless, insurance was unable to repair the rift that had finally widened into a chasm between my uncle and both my mother and grandmother. He moved to a rooming house in a seedy part of Toronto and I guess everyone was a little happy to see him go, including myself.
In spite of everything that had happened, he still came for Christmas and the oyster ritual continued, and if I was in Toronto, id go downtown and see him at his rooming house near Yonge and Dundas and chit chat. I knew nothing had changed. I knew he was still using, and I knew he had started drinking again. I also knew there was nothing I could do about it and accepted him for who he was; my interesting and smart junky uncle.
This past Friday just after getting to work my brother called to tell me that my uncle had been found dead in his room. He had died in his sleep from a seemingly accidental overdose of methadone and alcohol. He was 60.
My Uncle Johnny lived at my house for most of my high-school and University years. I feel it necessary to say that he had a positive influence on who I am, and despite the choices he made, he always provided advice from the heart.
I’ve been told that, in time, the hurt will fade, only to be replaced by positive memories that soothe the soul. Already, I can feel that happening.
Maybe it’s because Uncle Johnny and I had a unique relationship. He was a remarkably smart man, and I respected his humor, stories, and confidence. He was there at times when my father was not, and while I will always call him “Uncle Johnny”, he was, in a subtle way, a father figure.
He talked to me about things I didn’t want to talk to anyone else about, and the advice he gave was honest and non-patronizing. His life was filled with experiences very few people have had, and from the tales he shared with me and the mistakes he had made, I was able to make some of the right choices for myself. Even if he didn’t intend to do that for me, he did, and because he did, I will truly miss him.
“Take it easy brother. Be cooool” is how he ended our last meeting in Toronto in September of last year. (2005)
I just want to say “You too man. Rest easy”.