LEAH GARCHIK writes in the San Francisco Chronicle: 'I am informed by ADDA DADA , who never misses a party, that the winner of the Hunky Jesus Contest was TWERKING JESUS. And "Why carry your cross when you can ride it?" is what REBECCA ZITO when she spotted a cyclist so accessorized.'

In Wednesday's Leah Garchik column in the San Francisco Chronicle.

www.sfgate.com/entertainment/garchik/article/Dancing-in-t... ............................................................................................SISTER's of PERPETUAL INDULGENCE's 35th Annual HUNKY JESUS & FOXY MARY fun....The best thing about the Sister's show were the Marijuana 4/20 folks who incorrectly wandered into the Sister's party space...They were like "OMG, This is like , OZ, man."

Yes, it was.

Probably because it was the Sister's 35th Anniversary and it was an homage to the Wizard of Oz. The lawn in front of the stage was filled with red-paper poppies. There were several 'Cowardly Lions", many "Glenda the Good Witch", a couple of 'Bad Witches" including one on a bike...a very young 6-year old Judy Garland passing out Giradelli Chocolate, an awesome Scarecrow of indeterminate sex, a few Tin Men (and one obviously Tin Woman), and even a couple of 'munchkins'...yes, real little people. Though, ADDA DADA is happy to report that there were no Flying Monkeys.

THANK YOU to all the beautiful adults who let ADDA take their photos! (Everyone was properly asked & everyone consented.)

(These photos carry copyright protection. Do NOT post them elsewhere! )

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THE 'NUDES' ARE PROPERLY MARKED EITHER RESTRICTED OR MODERATE ON ADDA'S SITE! (EVERYONE PHOTOGRAPHED IS OVER 18-YEARS-ONLY!) There is NO stolen PORN on my site!

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NOTE: MY photos are NOT to be used or reproduced, COPIED, BLOGGED, USED in any way shape or form. Understand clearly these are my photographs and use of them by anyone is an infringement of my copyrights and personal artistic property!

© All rights reserved. Use without permission is illegal

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Viewers should be aware that these photos are viewed by a wide variety of folks and inappropriate X & R rated & RUDE comments shall be removed forthwith

It has been said that every generation has changes to adjust to and I don’t believe ours was much different than the changes prior generations coped and adjusted to. World War II children had all that murder and trauma, the children of the depression had the poverty and uncertainties of life, children like my grandfather at the turn of the century witnessed the evolution of things like electricity, the coming of age of gadgets to make life easier in certain ways. This is just the nature of the species to be in a constant change. Perhaps for my life this change was in the types of recreational items we consumed in pursuit of what? Happiness, experience, wisdom, knowledge? Time will let us know the results of this experiment.

This age, the now, is this the computer age, the beginning of the computer age as it seems those machines change, improve, and expand almost daily. There was a need for me to plug in an old computer system, one with Windows 3.1 as the operating system, it was probably ten years old, and it was like driving an old frail car on its last legs. How quickly the new becomes old and discarded. My current computer gurus laugh when I say I am comfortable in Windows 95, the benefits of 98, 2000, and XP being so superior to this old program I write in. When I was recently forced to examine the possibility of purchasing a replacement unit for this sick PC the number of options was incredible. I had to choose between so many computer variables, memory, ram, hard drive, video cards, speakers, size of screen, wide screen or regular and this was just in the low end category of notebooks. Processors were confusing, I had to chose between, Celeron and Pentium and Centrino all of this with the knowledge that what I purchased was going to be somewhat obsolete in a year or so.

Shift back to 1968, the summer of. Hi-jinks continued and one high led to another as young entrepreneurs were everywhere marketing pot and hashish, mescaline, LSD, and MDA, along with speed, heroin, and cocaine. We were still juiceheads having done our time learning this pastime the other items slowly got some of our dollars as we became more knowledgeable of their attributes. There was an acid trip I took early that summer when on getting off I thought I had shrunken to the size of an infant and I tried to get under the bed of the rooming house we called The White House. The guys had never seen this behaviour before, the idea of a “Bad Trip” was something the press always harped on to advance the cops theory that all drugs are bad. We didn’t like cops. That summer a groovy coffee shop opened in the basement of Vic’s’ Meat Pie store that faced onto Weston Rd, Vics was next door to the Black Cat Variety Store named after a brand of cigarettes popular at the time. Vics backroom was a dingy place, poorly lit with several tables set with single candles in coloured dishes giving off a red glow The owner served coffee and cokes and bags of chips. We dropped something, it could have been acid who remembers. Big Vic the owner had a CLOSED sign in his window out front, so we went to the back doors through the laneway that ran behind the shops and found half the kids in the neighborhood down there. Younger kids too, all high on something or the other grooving to some tunes. Two local plainclothes coppers come walking in dressed in ridiculous costumes, a lumberjack shirt for one burly goof named Criscoe and a ball cap and jeans for his side kick Smith, we spotted them right away and razzed them even though we were ripped. It was the original Mutt and Jeff show. We just left and the place emptied everyone had somewhere to go and listen to tunes, and not be disturbed.

We hung out at the Place Pigalle on Avenue Road. After the Place closed we’d go to this spot this guy from the States had opened a funky coffee shop on Dupont St not to far from the bar and we would go there half pissed and sit around listening to his eclectic tunes. This spot we called Rocheyz, but if you were to spell it correctly it would be Roches. The owner was like a Vietnam Vet kind of guy who looked like Ginger Rogers, his red hair tied in a pony tail. He was always talking about shitting in a hole, made a good mockery of consumer life and in his small way turned us on to the coffee shop ideology of former beat types like Ginsberg and Kerouac without actually preaching their names. He served weird stuff like tofu and beet juice tea, the lighting was real dim so you could just hangout forever, we heard somewhere that he was a junkie.

Most of the guys were still in High School at York Memo except for Billy, he worked somewhere maybe for the firebrick company, everything was going to change for everyone, guys were getting serious about chicks, I just wanted to party, Pete was going to St Lawrence College in New York State on a full hockey scholarship, the brothers Frank and Jack were off to Peterborough to study at the newly opened Trent University. Count was top of the class and doing quite well at U of T. I had my own directions to follow.

One day I was servicing the fire equipment at a place called McPhar Geophysics; this was located in Don Mills, a suburb of Toronto with an area that had streets full of small manufacturing plants and warehouses. Don Mills is thought of an upper middle class area of very sharp homes. In the receiving department at McPhar there was a lot of exploration gear, things like, snowshoes, canoes, axes and I guess it was like going on a movie set for me, as my eyes bulged. The closest I’d ever gotten to a pair of snowshoes was by watching the show Eric of the Yukon and His dog King, or something like that. A big swarthy guy with a beard and coveralls ran the shipping department and I wasn’t shy, I asked what this company did as he packaged neat things to be shipped to addresses printed in big lettering on the parcels, exciting names like, Rouyan/Noranda, Quebec, Kirkland Lake, Ontario, Sao Paolo, Brazil. This outfit was the leader in geophysical surveying in Canada, maybe the world as the founder of the company had invented this piece of machinery for use in WW-II to detect submarines underwater or something like that, when things get technical, remember Science class I get edgy. They found a use for the discovery in the mining industry, locating ore bodies.

Here’s how it worked. A typical set up would consist of six people, in the woods in an area, a remote area, near a mine site or a potential mining site. The party operator would put his Receiver on the ground, it was like an electronic sending unit, full of numerous incomprehensible to me buttons, switches, graphs and toggle like switches. This operator we’ll call him John Parker cause that was the guys name I trained with at the first place in Val D’Or Quebec in early January 1969. From Parkers’ receiver a number of wires with crocodile clips, each wire about twelve feet long, were unrolled and hooked up to my piece of machinery, the Transmitter. This little baby was my (the second in commands) equipment. It also had a lot of buttons and switches and a place for Parkers six wires to attach to. Maybe there were three positive and three negative wires. The transmitter was supplied power by a portable generator carried on some bodies back in a rucksack type fashion. In turn the wires were attached to longer wires, some a hundred feet long at six stations, three in front of the set up at certain intervals and three behind the set up at similar intervals. These wires were attached to eight foot steel rods which had been pounded into the ground by staff hired locally using big sledge ended axes. The gas generator was fired up and Parker would play with his buttons and ask me to change the frequency on my piece of equipment, like a parrot I would take his directions, then he would take numbers, called readings and write them into a book. Electric current was sent through the wires into the ground and our machinery somehow measured the results and this would give mining engineers the information they needed as to what direction the mineral they were mining was in or if there were any minerals worth mining for. At night it was our job, Parker and mine to take the days numbers and put them on graph paper, we had to use a slide ruler and this was a little tough for my grade nine math, especially since I’d told the owner/boss Ash Mullan that I had grade twelve which he bought since I showed up for my interview in my nice Invictus Football Team jacket, crew cut and all. I winged the night work for quite some time and thought I had invented a better way of doing the radius work, which we’ll get to in a while. After the mining engineers received these reports which I suppose they paid big money for they, if interested would send in a crew to drill the earth and take out what they call core samples that could be studied to determine the worth of the project.

For some reason this was a big thing, me leaving town to work away. It was like I was going to war which I tried to do twice, once a few years earlier the Canadian Navy turned me down for service after my final interview when they asked me my opinion on the Americans in Vietnam, I said, “they shouldn’t be there,” oops so much for saying the wrong thing about your allies, and that year 68 Bill and I tried to sign up for of all things the United States Marines. One time when we were down in Niagara Falls getting drunk at the Johns Club, a place where you went in and they took your order and like a man you’d say, “I’ll have a tray please,” and a waitress would bring you thirty small glasses of beer, and in less than an hour you were so pissed and you’d go for a leak and come back to your table and Bill had changed his name to something like Steve McQueen and he was actually on a movie shoot in the Falls and just taking a little time off for R&R and the ladies fell for it a few times! The following week after sobering up we headed back to Niagara Falls on a mission. The marines recruiting office was in a warehousey part of town in an old factory or something and they told us to go sign up for our own armed forces. I removed some kind of emblem, like a bomb shelter sign off the building and along with my other collectibles stuck it on a wall in the White House.

So it wasn’t as if this was the first time I tried to leave, it was the first time I actually got to leave. Close to my departing there was a big drunken go away, everyone was there, all the chicks we hung out with, Barb, kind of my date but we never did anything, Debbie , soon to be Jacks wife, Mickey who Pete was spending a lot of time with on the hood of his little mini car, Phyllis this Italian chick who was hounding Frank, Herbie’s girl, beautiful Ruth Hope the ministers daughter, Bill was still stagging it, it was a big thing, a big party. Mom had moved the family up to an apartment on Weston Road near Cadet Cleaners and Sid’s barbershop. Prior to that we had lived at 26 Victoria Blvd forever, the landlord, a Mr.Gowland must have sold the house. Alex was away on some secret mission we don’t really know where, rumour had it he was in the States on a football scholarship, another rumour was he was in Montreal. The younger kids were there, Kevin, Shane, Sue and Barb as well as mom who loved the teenagers coming over. The party got a little loud and out of hand, I recall the yellow cop cars parked on Weston Road, their red flashing roof top lights, then the cops coming in the front door and all of us running out the back door, and through to Buttonwood Avenue or was it Bartonville and then all of us hiding in the hedges at Bala Avenue school. We left the cops with mom who were busy asking her who was still drinking there, we all got away, we were all underage, and that’s just how it was then.

McPhar was a generous company, a few weeks prior to Parker and I leaving for Val D’Or they had me in for an afternoon, had me open up a new bank account where my cheque of $900.00 a month would be deposited, gave a start up expense cheque of $300.00 from which I was to purchase, felt lined snow boots, waterproof pants and a below zero parka. This was way before high tech clothing was available. Down on Yonge Street I found an Army Surplus shop that had neat war stuff and I bought a knee length grey parka, down filled, with a piece of dead fur on the hood. Some of the air force crests and badges were still on the sleeves. For pants I picked a pair of blue nylon jobs that were about half an inch thick with insulation. I should have spent more on boots though as the cheap dark blue zipper up snowmobile feltpaks I purchased were no match for eight hours trekking in snow at times six feet deep. My co-worker, trainer, boss John Parker met me midtown, he had rented a brand new olive coloured Pontiac four door for the drive up to Quebec, we didn’t get to far that first night as a winter storm forced us off the road in Barrie where I had a taste of a company bought motel room and a nice steak dinner, I knew right then I was going to love this gig.

Next day the snow still fell and I drove for a while giving Parker a break, it was rough driving up around Sudbury and when we turned right up towards Kirkland Lake this was the first time I’d truly been north. Prior to that us southern boys would think of Barrie as being north I would quickly discover that the North was a large area comprised of incredible terrain, long views, kind people, and a coldness that was not at all like the cold of Toronto. We made it to Val D’Or Quebec not to far from the Ontario border, perhaps an hour’s drive. Our hotel was an old two storey wood framed structure a few blocks from the centre of town which was about the size of Gravenhurst. The streets were covered in snow like a postcard. For meals there was an arrangement with the hotel to make us breakfast and a packed lunch, we would tell them how many sandwiches of what type, peanut butter(beurre d’arachide) and jam, or sliced ham(jambon), and so on. Dinners we went in to town and had a hot meal, anything within reason, no alcohol, and the company paid for everything.

Walking into town you could better understand the quietness of this village, as some kids skated and played hockey at an outdoor rink with boards, the heat from their breath coming out of their mouths, a pair of incandescent bulbs glared under round aluminum hoods illuminating the ice rink at each end. Nobody was on the streets, thick smoke poured from the chimneys of the tiny homes, some cabin like in size. The smell of burning firewood filled the air with that type of sweetness which a log of apple or some other such wood gives off. In town, I looked inside a few drinking establishments, now and then, had a couple of beers, spotted the older hookers plying their trade at the front of the bars dressed in obvious get ups, black, torn fishnet stockings, rouged cheeks and their breasts busting out from clothing that was meant for younger smaller ladies. In Ontario towns you would not see such flagrant prostitution, Quebec was more lenient, more accepting of mans need for comfort. Being on my best behaviour I mostly observed as I was learning a new trade and I did not want to jeopardize this by acting up.

Our first day in the woods was a Sunday our day off and Parker took me to a field to practice snowshoeing, I caught on immediately after falling a few times. It is quite a neat experience as the body is suspended above the snow which was quite deep, perhaps three or five feet deep. Your feet do sink in a few inches depending on the crustiness of the snow but then they stop and you learn quickly to walk like a penguin, that is with your feet intentionally pointing left and right instead of straight ahead so your snow shoes will not catch each other. To me this was like a new sport. Going up hills was a skill as was descending hills and making turns, after a while it became natural. As the day began the leather harness was easy to use as it was warm and pliable. After a day’s work it could be frozen solid and difficult to manage. Complicating matters was the fact that we wore packs to move our gear through the woods, my transmitter weighed in at ninety pounds so the effort required was high and often this would test the abilities of any man. Whoever led the party through the pre-staked areas of survey would have the added burden of breaking fresh snow so the followers had a bit of an easier walk.

Our gig in Val D’Or was not very lengthy, about three weeks. I was for the most part able to do the work with pleasure and discovered these long days out in the snow, in nature were much to my liking. There was an eerie absence of wildlife for some reason, I guess I expected to see deer and moose and bears around every corner but this was not the case. Nights in the town were so much like a Cornelius Krieghoff painting, snow covered cabins with smoke pouring from the chimneys the joie de vivre of the townsfolk. My limited French vocabulary was a valued asset as I could in short time communicate my needs in very rudimentary terms, ham of course was jambon, beurre d’arachides was peanut butter, what I then had difficulty with as I do today is the rapidity of the conversations, a smile was always available as well as at times a questioning look.

There was a short furlough in Toronto for a week while the next gig was being prepared for, it was to be in Kirkland Lake with a few days here and there in Timmins. These towns were gold mining centres from earlier times. I was flush with cash as there was nowhere to spend money in Val Dor except the occasional biere at one of the many French pubs. My finances had always been precarious. There was the matter of a small loan in the amount of about seven hundred dollars that I owed HFC and I had no intention of ever paying it. Those dupes had loaned me money for Christmas presents one year at their ridiculous rate of twenty percent. Like I was going to buy presents, I drank all the money in about three weeks. A goofy manager at the HFC office in Weston, upstairs from a shop took me in to sign some forms, swear allegiance to pay this debt, he was a Canadian version of Snidely Whiplash, an English born chap who would have been more suited to being a prison guard. Besides this debt I was in the clear and once I left Dyer and Miller and I changed addresses the loan to HFC was not a consideration and I highly recommend every body do this at least once in life, that is get a loan from some rip off organization and stiff them. Get a bogus birth certificate or something, and get a loan.

There were parties of course on my return you would have thought I’d been away for years. The following Sunday I was to make my way to Kirkland Lake Ontario via train. I’d never been on a train ride except for the time we came home from Parry Sound all drunked up on the warm Labatt 50s. At the station Frank came to see me off and at the last minute I said why don’t you come along for the ride as I had a bag of grass to smoke and he had nothing to do. It wasn’t long before we were smoking the joints, I had pre rolled them, there were about thirty, the dope was pretty mild, not like today’s killer weed. We smoked between the trains cars. Back in the coach someone was reading a book called Five Easy Pieces and if you stared long enough you could make the letters interchange sort of a mini hallucination. Six joints later and a couple of sandwiches we were in Kirkland Lake. Getting off the train we noticed the temperature was 35 degrees below zero and this was a big thing for us city boys. Parker, the boss met me at the train, I introduced him to Frank and he hired him on the spot to work on the crew which was to start soon.

Frank was kind of gangly at the time, going through a growth spurt, he was always bent over because he was taller than everyone else, he had a gentle manner and enjoyed the usual stuff, like, beer, tokes and women. I loaned him some money and he bought a suitable work outfit, some clothes as he had nothing but the clothes on his back. I recall he purchased a better pair of felt pack boots than mine, the ones with the leather uppers bonded to heavy rubber bottoms that were more waterproof especially if you put Dubbin on them at night. At the Parklane Hotel we shared a room, we had management give us an extra roll a way bed and the cost was quite minimal, they ran a tab for Frank. Meals were taken in the hotel dining room and lunches were prepared for us. As I recall the room was quite small we literally had to crawl over each other to get to the can.

We had a day off before work started and that first night in downtown Kirkland was like magic. The Beatles new recording Hey Jude was broadcast live around the world and we caught this in an empty shabby store front bar. Outside it was freezing cold but the coldness was different, it was a dry cold, the wind not holding the same sharp bite as a Toronto wind blowing off of Lake Ontario. The women were looking pretty good and I had a new pick up line, “mon petite serpent” at this the ladies would almost instantly run and hide. Doctor Doolittle was playing at the local theatre and one night we went to the show ripped on our mediocre weed, leaving the theatre singing the songs that were sung in the movie.

Work was difficult as it was cold and there was a lot of snow. Town was exciting, our hotel had a Tavern in the basement where a stripper appeared in the evenings. Her name was Patty and we affectionately called her the Portuguese Pig, I don’t know why because we never got any where with her, she had a room in the hotel and we’d always be sneaking peeks at her boobs as she changed before shows. A friend of hers named Candy was around now and then and I thought she was pretty special but again it was like we were all Toronto outcasts and this alone made us buddies. Somewhere down the line Patty the Portuguese Pig knew Bil and she had a crush on him. Nights would find us in the Tavern listening to crappy groups who kept playing a Credence Clearwater Revival song called Proud Mary and the Tom Jones tune, Green Green Grass of Home. Parker was sorry he had hired Frank because we didn’t ever have our minds on the job and we were always hung over. Bill would call regularly he was ready to escape his reality.

One night we borrowed the company car and drove to Rouyn Noranda for beers with these French Hippies, a guy and his chick whom we met the week previous at the Kirkland Winter Carnival. Rouyn was not far maybe fifty miles and while there we smoked some nice hash that they had and Frank was making a move on the chick. We got pretty high and it was time to get back to Kirkland. Frank started to drive while I was napping, we were half way to Montreal when I woke up and noticed a road sign that said Montreal ahead 150 miles, this was before the metric system had been imposed on us. We assessed the situation and turned around we were about three hours from Kirkland Lake We got back just as the sun was coming up. The boss, John Parker never had a clue. Another time we were hung over and it was bloody cold, we didn’t feel like working, I dropped my receiver climbing over a farm fence and called Parker over, he turned the machine on and had to take it to the little airport and ship it out to have it repaired. That was good for a couple of days off. Of course there were times when we had no days off, we would work fourteen days straight if the crew was willing so it all worked out.

A job near Timmins not to far away needed us so we drove over got rooms in some el cheapo hotel where Patty the Portuguese Pig and her friend Candy were working and this was great because the girls had now let us tie their bikini tops on before shows and apply the glue to the pasties and then watch as the girls pushed them on over their luscious nipples, still no touching, just looking. This trip would be my introduction to snowmobiles. At seven in the morning we left the rooms and piled into the company car, the same four door Pontiac, Parker always drove. We drove to a remote area, parked the car then a few men would show up with ski doos and drive us the final half hour into the worksite as we sat on sleds pulled by the ski doos. It was a far cry from the glamour and hot rodding associated with today’s snowmobilers. Our work was done on a frozen lake a new experience for me, there were long views of barren landscapes, tree lined lakes not a bird or animal insight. Timmins had more bars than Kirkland as unlike Kirkland it was still a thriving gold mining community while Kirkland had began to lose its roll as king of the gold mining towns. Sid Bernstein an old Jewish waiter I met later in life at the Seaway Beverly Hills Hotel had been to Kirkland in the 1930s and he talked about the boom days, the Gold Rush Fever.

Work was an endless day of carrying gear over strange moonscape like terrain, areas where no trees existed; as it was snow covered you never got a feel for the land. Parker took care of the night work being a real stickler for accuracy and a dedicated employee, he seemed content to work all day have a meal, go to his room and do the calculations with the slide ruler and chart the results inked on the special roll of graph paper for this purpose. It wasn’t ever necessary for him to socialize, have a beer with the guys, he was work oriented, I’d never met anyone like this before. John Parker came from Saskatchewan, had a degree from DeVry Tech a technical school and when he wasn’t working he had his head in some learning type book, never a novel or something fun. Yet this mismatch of personalities did not deter us from getting the work done, it was hard work, perhaps the hardest I would ever endure and I have to respect that man from Saskatchewan as he never complained always was a good leader. Later on the job I learned that the preferred employee came from a farming background as this type of person was used to long hard days in adverse conditions, and did not suffer the need of rest and relaxation. The job ended and Frank headed back to Toronto with a few dollars in his pocket and this bonding would keep us friends forever.

I love sex corneey.com/q6Qsdp?Audrey83970

Spotted this little guy/gal and tried my best to get a good picture. Not the best photo, but I'm happy with it. I believe I was at 2x magnification, but I didn't write anything down to be sure.

ODC: Writing Instruments

Mas uma foto recente do Hury, atras dele vemos a Brenda que tem medo da camera...

Estou aos poucos retornando minha vida de flickr..

Beijos a Todos

I was sitting at the dining room table, preparing one of my DSLRs for a small excursion. It would be hard not to use it! LOL

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اكره الخيانه

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Taken and edit by me

With beautiful model Leila.

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I was putting words in the mouth of the girl on the right. Lets hear what you think she is saying (or thinking).

"If we had a car, we'd be in Sevastopol for some beach time!"

LEAH GARCHIK writes in the San Francisco Chronicle: 'I am informed by ADDA DADA , who never misses a party, that the winner of the Hunky Jesus Contest was TWERKING JESUS. And "Why carry your cross when you can ride it?" is what REBECCA ZITO when she spotted a cyclist so accessorized.'

In Wednesday's Leah Garchik column in the San Francisco Chronicle.

www.sfgate.com/entertainment/garchik/article/Dancing-in-t... ............................................................................................SISTER's of PERPETUAL INDULGENCE's 35th Annual HUNKY JESUS & FOXY MARY fun....The best thing about the Sister's show were the Marijuana 4/20 folks who incorrectly wandered into the Sister's party space...They were like "OMG, This is like , OZ, man."

Yes, it was.

Probably because it was the Sister's 35th Anniversary and it was an homage to the Wizard of Oz. The lawn in front of the stage was filled with red-paper poppies. There were several 'Cowardly Lions", many "Glenda the Good Witch", a couple of 'Bad Witches" including one on a bike...a very young 6-year old Judy Garland passing out Giradelli Chocolate, an awesome Scarecrow of indeterminate sex, a few Tin Men (and one obviously Tin Woman), and even a couple of 'munchkins'...yes, real little people. Though, ADDA DADA is happy to report that there were no Flying Monkeys.

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ADDA DADA's VIEW COUNT is :

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620,000,000+ VIEWS with over 16,200+ followers !!!

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•🔹•THANK YOU for visiting my virtual art gallery! Enjoy my original 'social documentary' photographs of various events !

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•🔹• ADDA DADA's photography presents a variety of adults (18+ years old) at different public events . These photographs do NOT imply the person's sexual orientation in any way. Everyone was asked and they consented to be photographed and posted

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©2013 Luiz L. (Please do not use without my written permission.)

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STEFANIA VISCONTI attrice, modella, actress, model, performer, trasformista, disponibile per collaborazioni artistiche di vario genere, teatro, cinema, tv, cortometraggi, shooting fotografici, esibizioni dal vivo. Disponibilità di spostamento in tutta Italia e all'Estero.

Per qualsiasi informazione ulteriore e collaborazione potete scrivere a viscontistefy@libero.it

www.stefaniavisconti.com

STEFANIA VISCONTI is an Italian transgendered actress, model, chameleon-like performer, and activist. She is available for a variety of arts and entertainment projects, including theatrical performances, long and short films, TV programs, photo shootings, live performances. She is willing to travel anywhere in Italy and abroad. For further information, write to viscontistefy@libero.it. You will find other links to some of her personal pages below

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Today I was feeling very inspired and creative again, this time by Industrial Living. So this display I created with that theme in mind.

I came across the amazing new chest by MeshWorx at FaMESHed, and the two chairs with antlers also at FaMESHed, by Handverk. I based the rest around those items to pull it all together!

Full write up and more pics can be found here:

editorialclarity.com/2012/10/23/inspiration-industrial-li...

Write me a song called "The Building is from 1959." No don't.

The teal panels and the pale green glazed bricks and the rounded corners of selected windows are attractive even yet. The awful plastic films on the windows are very unattractive, really really bad-looking.

The venetian blinds and vents and air conditioner are neither attractive nor unattractive.

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In downtown McKeesport, Pennsylvania, on July 1st, 2019, outside the McKeesport Muncipal Building (completed 1959 and designed by Celli-Flynn, site of city hall from 1959 to 2006), at the northwest corner of Lysle Boulevard (Pennsylania Route 148) and Blackberry Street.

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Getty Thesaurus of Geographic Names terms:

• Allegheny (county) (7013272)

• McKeesport (2090470)

Art & Architecture Thesaurus terms:

• air conditioners (300135620)

• brick (clay material) (300010463)

• ceramic glaze (300015092)

• city halls (300122210)

• deterioration (300054106)

• exterior walls (300002523)

• greenish blue (300129788)

• Mid-Century Modernist (300343610)

• pale green (300128523)

• panels (surface elements) (300069079)

• plastic film (Q4370258)

• plastic (material) (300014570)

• teal (color) (300311051)

• venetian blinds (300204075)

• vents (outlets) (300002943)

• windows (300002944)

Wikidata items:

• 1 July 2019 (Q57350260)

• 1950s in architecture (Q11185577)

• 1959 in architecture (Q2812227)

• July 1 (Q2700)

• July 2019 (Q47087600)

• Pennsylvania Route 148 (Q1116879)

• Pittsburgh metropolitan area (Q7199458)

• Treaty of Fort Stanwix (Q246501)

• Western Pennsylvania (Q7988152)

• window film (Q480324)

Library of Congress Subject Headings:

• Glazed brick (sh85055241)

• Office buildings—Pennsylvania (sh91002286)

• Plastics—Deterioration (sh85103163)

• Public buildings—Pennsylvania (sh90004585)

Union List of Artist Names IDs:

• Celli - Flynn and Associates (American architectural firm, contemporary) (500208014)

My private life is here meetmeclick.tk?Ariana30196

Change is here...the slate has been cleaned...what shall I write on the board now?

-rc

/************************************************************************/

“The meaning of awe is to realize that life takes place under wide horizons, horizons that range beyond the span of an individual life or even the life of a nation, a generation, or an era. Awe enables us to perceive in the world intimations of the divine, to sense in small things the beginning of infinite significance, to sense the ultimate in the common and the simple; to feel in the rush of the passing the stillness of the eternal.”

-Abraham Joshua Heschel, God in Search of Man: A Philosophy of Judaism

I am home from a four-day workweek. I’d like to tell you it was an easy time because I was blessed with Memorial Day off. For the most part, it was a breeze, but my dispatcher threw in a Philly run for Friday. That trip alone made it feel like a six-day workweek.

Besides the Philadelphia trip that chipped away at my soul, another thing has thrown me off balance since Monday. I didn’t feel quite right, and was certain the disease I have been cursed with, diverticulosis, was about to become diverticulitis. I did not want to let that happen. I would be forced to take awful antibiotics and miss work. Missing work equal missing money, so I had to soldier on. Instead of letting my disease get the better of me; I took a more holistic approach: I kept up my regiment of eating healthy high-fiber foods supplemented with fiber supplements. I tried to get extra sleep. I would think happy thoughts like I usually do, especially when I thought of whatever was transpiring among my insides. I would sometimes place my left hand on the lower left quadrant of my abdomen and imagine that healing light was penetrating to aid in the process. I will always fight to stay healthy, strong and positive, even when it is much easier to let myself fall victim to becoming sick. I’m happy to report my therapy seems to be working; I write you this Saturday morning feeling considerably better.

It was nice; however, to have what amounted to almost a four-day weekend last week. When you are away from home for so many days, it feels very good to be home. Any truck driver would tell you that they appreciate being at the house more than your average citizen who is home every single night (or day.)

When Tuesday arrived, it was time to enact my standard procedure of asking my wife if I really had to go off to work. The usual words flew out of my mouth like, “Do I have to?” “I’d much rather stay home and write, please let me stay.” The meanie that she is, I was given direct orders to leave; something about money needed to live flying out of her lips. Wouldn’t it be great, to stay at home and do the things we want to? I have not given up hope that one day that will be possible; however, this week, as next, I drive to work and pick up a big truck and go off in search of new adventures (and money.) It’s neither a bad life to live nor a terrible goal to walk towards.

Tuesday was a pleasant day buzzing around Baltimore and the DC beltway. The weather was good even though I felt like I was in a fog.

Wednesday brought two easy stops in Williamsport, Pa. It was a long day because I came back and made trails to Connecticut for Thursday’s deliveries. My first stop Thursday morning had a six to eight am delivery window. I was in town by eight Wednesday night but still, who likes to wake up that early? There was a silver lining; my second stop a mile away opened at ten in the morning.

You might be saying, “Jason, that’s not a silver lining. If you get done with your first stop at seven-thirty, there are two and one-half hours until your next stop opens their doors!” You would have a valid argument, but you cannot forget that I am a very skilled time filler-upper. Here was the plan: I would arrive at the first stop, unload 87 pieces of the world’s best furniture, then drive to a nearby truck stop. That facility happens to contain a Dunkin' Donuts store where I could score the finest coffee on the planet as well as a sausage egg and cheese breakfast sandwich. (I told you I was eating healthy.) There would also be time to clean the bugs off my windshield, in case I wanted to take a picture through it. (While sitting still I might add.) So, that’s what I did.

I parked my beautiful rig in the lot. I then walked inside the building to wash my hands before ordering my healthy and delicious breakfast. On the way, I noticed a big red Volvo truck sitting on the scale, in the process of being weighed. It is because I am a man with a good eye that I noticed something else: It was piloted by a girl (a pretty one I might add.) It is not unusual to see women truckers on the road. I seem to remember the pretty ones more for some reason. (Okay, I’ll stop with the pretty girl talk. If my wife sees that I said that, she wouldn’t let me leave for work, and she’ll break my fingers, so I can’t write. That would be terrible.)

When I was coming out of the building, I held the door open for a girl walking in. I was certain she was the one I saw in the truck, and I noticed she had a young girl with her. She thanked me, I told her that she was welcome, and then I set sail for my coffee and nourishment fix. I took my food back to my truck and sat at the table to enjoy it in quiet solitude.

Looking through the windshield as I ate, I could see the big red Volvo. The mother/daughter team had returned to their truck, and mom was standing at the back of the trailer looking at the wheels, her scale report in her hands. She then got out her phone and made a call, tipping me off that everything was not all roses on their trip across the scale, and she needed advice. Whatever was in that trailer was likely heavy. The Department of Transportation has regulations that we have to abide by. There can only be so much weight on the front axle of the cab, the drive tires of the cab, and on the trailer axles. If there is too much weight on any one part of all three, things can be adjusted to make it legal. It often starts with sliding the wheels of the trailer front or back.

Watching them set my mind into the wonder mode. What a good lesson for her daughter in the mathematical conundrums of weight and balance. I wondered if her kid hopped on Facebook and made a status update that said something like, “We just picked up a load in Connecticut, and it’s too heavy. Mom can’t get the thing balanced right and it’s taking forever. Ugh.” She would be unlike most girls her age in saying something like that, that’s for darn sure.

I might also add that I do not know if I am correct to assume that mother/daughter was the relationship between these girls. They could have been sisters, friends, maybe even aunt/niece. Perhaps I should have asked them, but I was too scared. I’m a better writer than I am a smooth talker with the opposite sex. In addition to that, what if they had asked me for help with their truck-weight issues? I would have come off looking like an idiot. I hate when that happens.

It’s been a very long time since I put my truck on a scale. It’s very rare that it’s a necessity in the business of furniture. Fabric and wood are fairly light, and even if I completely removed the wheels of the trailer, it would still be legal. (Wait, maybe not. It might not roll so good and would probably throw off a lot of sparks.) Every once in a long while, I do pick up something heavy on the way home and have to make sure everything weighs well. The last time I did scale a load, I had a student with me, and I was not sure how to correct the problem. (Yes, you heard it all here: I am a healthy eater and a skilled teacher.) I did what Mom did; I picked up my phone and called my friend and mentor Gary for advice. We moved the wheels on the trailer in the correct direction; we re-weighed it, got it right, and drove on home.

In the end, it was my imagination that kept me from talking to them. I was even predicting the daughters Facebook status if I did talk to them and came off looking like a fool. “Mom still can’t get our weight issues fixed. A really handsome boy came to talk to us. We were hoping for help, but he was a complete moron. I’ve never seen a boy stammer and sweat so much.” That would have been horrific.

During my stay, I watched them go over the scale three times, including the first trip. To my relief, another trucker went to help them and advised them to change the length between truck and trailer. The nose of the trailer rests upon a pin, and that mechanism can be adjusted front or back. It seemed to be the magic factor for them, as they went and parked in a normal spot and seemed to be settled down for a bit.

Watching the adventures of those ladies made me wonder about a lot of things. I’ve witnessed lots of things on the road in my long and storied career. (Okay, it’s only been about eight years, but it’s always storied because I make it that way.) I think it was a neat thing to see. I wonder if the young lady enjoys riding around in the shotgun seat of a big rig. It has taught me you can learn a lot about our world and the people in it, more so than from the walls of a classroom. I also wondered why she wasn’t in school; perhaps she was home-schooled or in the midst of enjoying a “take your daughter to work” day. Most of all, I wondered if she was like me, and would really appreciate being home once she got there.

Recriation of the new Album's Cover: Wrtie About Love

All rights reserved - Copyright Pedro Díaz Molins© [Facebook] [500px] [1X]

This photo is exclusive property and may not be copied, downloaded, reproduced, transmitted, manipulated or used in any way without expressed, written permission of the author. If you are interested, you should write me to pdiazmolins@yahoo.es

my grandfather's urania typewriter - he used to write love letters to my grandmother on this thing... [circa 1926]

View On Black

Write here Nick Victoriapush71 bit.ly/3HXa3yV

When a car is worth millions of dollars, you don't simply write it off when it's damaged – you have it painstakingly repaired. But when that car's worth tens of millions, there's hardly any expense to be spared in its restoration. So after a rare Ferrari 250 GTO crashed a couple of years ago during a special event, its owner (presumably at the behest of his insurance company) sent the damaged specimen back to the factory for a full restoration to its original condition.

The Ferrari in question, GTO No. 3445, is owned by American collector Christopher Cox, who was driving it during a special tour in France organized for the legendary sports racer's 50th anniversary when he collided with another car – fortunately not another one of the GTOs on the road – inflicting significant damage on the highly coveted collector's item.

That was two-and-a-half years ago, and shortly after the accident, Cox entrusted it to the Ferrari Classiche division, which is responsible for restoring classic Prancing Horses and certifying their authenticity. Now the repairs and restoration are complete, right down to the Swedish blue and yellow livery it was originally give in April 1963 by Ulf Norinder and the number 112 he gave it for the 1964 Targa Florio.

Spending over two years restoring a single automobile may seem like overkill to most, but considering the $52 million said to have been paid the last time a GTO traded hands, and the $30 million spent on the one before that, suddenly two years doesn't seem like that long after all.

Press Release:

Lady in Blue

A stunning 250 GTO is restored by the Classiche department

Maranello, 28 November 2014 – One of the stars of the tracks of the 1960s was a Ferrari 250 GTO which has just emerged from a two-year-plus renovation at the Ferrari Classiche department, ready to return to its owner in America. During its stay in Maranello, the car was restored to the original engine and bodywork configuration in which it was delivered to Bologna-based publisher Luciano Conti in 1962. The latter also drove it in its maiden race, the Bologna-Passo della Raticosa.

The Volpi era. In June 1962, however, Chassis no. 3445 was sold to Count Giovanni Volpi di Misurata, a passionate racing driver, who competed under the S.S.S. Repubblica di Venezia insignia. During this particular stage of its career, the car also won the Trophée d'Auvergne with Carlo Maria Abate at its wheel.

A change of livery. In April 1963, the 250 GTO was purchased by Swede Ulf Norinder who, to comply with the racing regulations of the day, changed its livery from the original red to blue and yellow colours of Sweden. Mr Norinder then drove it to victory in the Vastkustloppet in his home nation. The car also finished second twice in the Targa Florio (with Bordeu and Scarlatti in 1963, and 1964 with Norinder and Pico Troiberg, the latter time as no. 112 which it still bears today). It subsequently changed hands several times before being sent to the Classiche department in 2012 to be restored to its original splendour. That process now complete, the 250 GTO once again sports the Swedish colours and is back with its owner.

[Text from Autoblog.com]

www.autoblog.com/2014/12/03/ferrari-250-gto-3445-classich...

This Lego miniland-scale Ferrari 250 GTO Berlinetta s/n 3445GT (1962 - Scaglietti), has been created for Flickr LUGNuts' 89th Build Challenge, - "Over a Million, Under a Thousand", - a challenge to build vehicles valued over one million (US) dollars, or under one thousand (US) dollars.

This particular Ferrari 250 GTO (s/n 3445GT) in blue with a yellow stripe was used as the muse for the Lego model #40192 released in conjunction with petroleum producer Shell.

This is my notebook that I allow my random thoughts sit upon. Hopefully I never leave it anywhere because I may scare someone. I do not write anything morbid or scary.....just strange. It helps alleviate my boredom from Generica!

Visiting my sister's home over Thanksgiving, I took this pic with my XF 60mm macro. Close-up shots help me realize there's an entire world of geography and color before our eyes if we just look closely enough. This photo is not processed, and I love the colors from my X-T1.

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instagram.com/potatoe_potahtoe_

This is the NWK wall done for Write4Gold against GH crew. Both sides sit, waiting for the results...Great day of painting in the sun regardless.

Day 139 of 365 - July 21st, 2012

This is my astronomy journal. My wife bought this for me several years ago to record my observations during my viewing sessions. Every now and then I take a look back on my past outings. Today I happen to turn the page to a clear night on July 18th, 2009. There were two things that stand out in that journal entry. The first one was the temperature. It was July and the temperature that night was in the low 50’s. That is a big difference in the climate when you fast forward to July 2012. The second one was my first observation of the planet Pluto. Yea, I still consider Pluto a planet, lol. It was fun reminiscing. Just like photography has slowed me down and revealed a world that had often gone unnoticed, writing in my journal adds substance to my viewing sessions and it makes for good reading on a cloudy night.

Sigma 30mm f1.4 EX DC HSM