Happy Birthday, Dad.

I'm an unemployment statistic if my boss reads this, but I will not have access to a computer for a while and wanted to put this into the slipstream.

My father's birthday is approaching; though he is gone now, I still think of him. My father was a machinist, a gear cutter, back when gears used to be cut in America. He was a veteran of WWII, serving in the Army Air Force. He 'flew The Hump' in the CBI, amongst other things.I did not find that out until I was in college.I mentioned I might like to go to India. His reaction was immediate and surprising: a loud 'no' with a long and vivid list of reasons why I should stay away from there. I think the war killed any wanderlust Dad may have had, along with eating certain vegetables. Apparently once canned carrots was all there was to eat where he was stationed, and he made a Vow, I guess. When the machine trade dried up, he took a job as a custodian at a trucking company, the place that eventually killed him.

We had some great battles when I was growing up; he wanted me to go to college, and I wanted to be a machinist. He won that one. He was being like every other father who wants something better for their children. He was also not like the fathers of
people I knew. One pal of mine's Dad would stop at the local bar every night on the way home. Not Dad: he would have a drink or two at a party (single malt only), but I don't think I ever heard of him stopping at the Local. Seeing my brother and I were both interested in mechanical things and mechanically inclined, he took us to places like the American Precision Museum and my personal favorite, the Higgins Armory Museum. A machinist colleague had a part time job as a projectionist at The Cameo (back when it was just one screen, not two shoehorned in), the local movie theater , and gave Dad passes, and my brother and I reaped that benefit. What an education: we saw every Roger Corman Poe film in luscious Technicolor with Vincent Price chewing the scenery; all the 'surf' movies, things like "Jason and the Argonauts', Hercules movies, and strange horror flicks. Those experiences, fodder for another screed, inculcated my interest in sitting in the dark watching a story unfold.

When the plant closed down, Dad got a job at the trucking company I had worked at to pay for college. He seemed to like it; he was not as stressed as the precision jobs made him, and things were swell. My mother died, and Dad, lost, married a woman he met. One day, while backing a forklift out of a trailer, he did not realize the driver had not checked the box when he pulled the chocks away and pulled the trailer. The forklift crushed my father against the loading dock. It would have killed a smaller man, and probably should have killed him outright. It did not. He had to use a walker afterward, but there were circulatory issues and that was what killed him. When a new doctor interviews me and asks what he died of there is always a one measure hesitation when I tell them the first cause of death on his death certificate: gangrene. That is a long and terrible story, which I will not get into here.

Before he died, my father wrote a book, and he lived long enough to see it in print. He was an antique firearms dealer, and had a life long interest in Vermont gunmakers. Like so many authors, he had looked for a source and could not find one to satisfy him, so he wrote it.

Sometimes, when I am tinkering in the garage and come up against a problem, I think "O, I'll call Dad, he'll give me the business but he'll tell me how to do it right". Then I have to stop and remind myself I cannot do that anymore. Dammit.
Happy Birthday, Dad.

AB: "Long time no viddy".

A Dispatch from the “Open mouth, disengage brain” department: spotting someone I had not seen in a while on the transfer from the 747 chicken-bus to the terminal, I blurted “Long time no viddy, old droog”. The man seated next to me spun his head so fast it should have hurt. “Anthony Burgess? Clockwork Orange”? You betcha, right in one.

I discovered AB through the film version of that novel. Even back then, I read the credits. Intrigued, I read his other works, and found an author who continued to please, to intrigue, and to make me laugh until the end of his life. A bit of biblio-trivia: the novel, when published in the US, was truncated by one chapter. It had 21 chapters (21: age of adulthood, gedditgeddit?) when published in England; AB’s American editors, to lighten the ending of the novel they said, lopped off the last chapter. AB was furious, and when Kubrick filmed the novel from the American edition, Burgess washed his hands of the project.

The early American edition, truncation notwithstanding, did a very sneaky thing. There was no glossary for the NADSAT slang (read: Russian) so those words (droog, tolchock, kal, grachny brachny, etc.) wormed their way into our vocabulary through context and a bit of slow going in the early stages. My droogs and I had a slang our parents had no clue about. For someone like me, at that age getting caught in the web of words, it was a frabjous day indeed. The modern editions seen do have the glossary, making it ‘easier’ for the reader. I know it is fiction and all, but gee, the reader has to do some sort of work beyond just reading the novel.

AB took pleasure in pointing out the absurdities of daily life (“All illiterates will report to Room 2 for reading instruction” read the note on the Company bulletin board at his duty station on Gibraltar, relayed in the first volume of his autobiography, Little Wilson and Big God), always a good feature in a novelist. I miss him.

An omnivore's checklist: pass it on.

Torn from another blog, URL below. My comments accompany, where needed.

Here’s a chance for a little interactivity for all the bloggers out there. Below is a list of 100 things that I think every good omnivore should have tried at least once in their life. The list includes fine food, strange food, everyday food and even some pretty bad food - but a good omnivore should really try it all. Don’t worry if you haven’t, mind you; neither have I, though I’ll be sure to work on it. Don’t worry if you don’t recognise everything in the hundred, either; Wikipedia has the answers.

Here’s what I want you to do:

1) Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.
2) Bold all the items you’ve eaten.
3) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating.
4) Optional extra: Post a comment at www.verygoodtaste.co.uk linking to your results.

The VGT Omnivore’s Hundred:

1. Venison.And Elk, Wild Boar, and Moose; no cats,kangaroos, or lizards unless absolutely necessary.
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos rancheros
4. Steak tartare
5. Crocodile
6. Black pudding
7. Cheese fondue
8. Carp
9. Borscht
10. Baba ghanoush
11. Calamari
12. Pho
13. PB&J sandwich
14. Aloo gobi. I don't like the sound of this, lemme get back to you.
15. Hot dog from a street cart
16. Epoisses
17. Black truffle
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes. Mamere made wine out of the darndest things....her dandelion wine was smokin', right up there with 'shine.
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries
23. Foie gras
24. Rice and beans
25. Brawn, or head cheese
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
27. Dulce de leche
28. Oysters
29. Baklava
30. Bagna cauda
31. Wasabi peas
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
33. Salted lassi
34. Sauerkraut
35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar
37. Clotted cream tea
38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O
39. Gumbo
40. Oxtail
41. Curried goat
42. Whole insects . Chocolate covered bumblebees, actually.
43. Phaal
44. Goat’s milk. Goat cheese, and jerk goat, yes; milk, no.
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more.Dad drank only single malts,an expensive wire here in the States. Here's to you, Dad.
46. Fugu
47. Chicken tikka masala
48. Eel
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut (A delicacy here in Richmond, there is a flashing light posted on the outside of their building to notify people when The Line is about to yield it's bounty! I'm not big on them{I prefer a cake doughnut}; again, Dunkin' Donuts standard plain sinker will suffice.)
50. Sea urchin
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal, sad to admit. But not since my heart attacks.
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini. I've had plenty of gin, though: G&T is my fav-o-rite summer drink.
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine
60. Carob chips
61. S’mores
62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin. Oooooooo I just looked it up, I know I have to eat a peck of dirt before I shuffle off, but I think I will pass on this one, clay ain't food. I have eaten art paste, does that count?
64. Currywurst
65. Durian.Which smells worse, durian or epoisses (q.v.)?
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake.
68. Haggis Had it when I was in Scotland in '73, enjoyed it. Mind you, my mother used to serve tripe (and boudin noir), a rarity in S. Weymouth, MA. I draw the line at Fried Haggis, though, as it is fried.
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings, or andouillette
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar (the good old stuff)and blini
73. Louche absinthe. It's on my personal List. Having acquired some in NH last summer, I want to do her right, the whole ritual."Absinthe makes the tart grow fonder".
74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill. Half the wild raccoons and skunks have rabies: my question is, do you feel lucky, Bubba?
76. Baijiu
77. Hostess Fruit Pie HAHAHA. How did this working class delicacy get on the list? I didn't know it was available in the UK. A vending machine fav-o-rite from the bad old days.It really ain't food if you can get it from the machines at APA Transport in Canton, MA, which is where I got mine.
78. Snail
79. Lapsang souchong
80. Bellini
81. Tom yum
82. Eggs Benedict
83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant.
85. Kobe beef
86. Hare
87. Goulash
88. Flowers (I stuffed zucchini blossoms with ricotta and herbs , yessss; found 'em at the Goochland Farmer's market one year. I was on 'em like a duck on a June-Bug.)
89. Horse
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam
92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
94. Catfish One cannot live in the South any number of years without eating this fresh(or not so, if they are wild) water delight.
95. Mole poblano
96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster Thermidor
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee . Wasted on me, really: Dunkin' Donuts suffices.
100. Snake

As you can see, there are not many that I would not try. I may be a bit quiet afterwards, but I will generally try anything before me. Especially if I was a guest."Food fussers" were quickly culled from the Phillips' herd.

"From Hell's heart I stab at thee......"

I told Alan Cheuse, and now I'm telling you. Thomas Pynchon's lit'ry destiny is to become the Herman Melville of the 20th century. Melville was never a best seller, though he attracted attention with his "wicked book", Moby Dick. His publisher did not sell all 3,000 copies of the first printing. All of his work was out of print by 1876; Melville died in 1891.

Biographies of this obscure author began to appear in the 1920's. The "Melville Revival" was on. Even Lewis Mumford, an American historian of technology, penned a decent bio. Moby Dick contains a great deal of technical detail on whales, the hunting of them, and all aspects of whaler life, so I can see Mumford's attraction. I enjoy them as well.

This level of detail makesMoby Dick an 'encyclopedic' novel, just like Gravity's Rainbow, The Recognitions, Cryptonomicon (A 3-page essay on the proper way to eat Cap'n Crunch cereal,gotta love it!), and Soul Mountain. This style of novel is tricky to pull off, as too many tangents will lose the novel's forward motion. The success(or not)of the novel depends on the reader; if they throw it against the wall at p.26, it may be deemed a failure. Encyclopedic novels generally are not experimental; they just have a great deal of interesting (or not) information in them.

I have recently seen T Pynchon's latest novel, Against the Day, on the bargain/remainder pile at the local big box bookstore. It is the start of Pynchon's fade. Don't worry: his rep will enjoy a resurgence in the 2020's. You heard it here first.

"The Americans are your Italians": DAK officer to Desert Rat captor

Some odds and ends from the last few weeks:
A professional conference just before Halloween where I received my annual scare. The geeks are in charge of the original "long tail" organization, and their big machines and tiny brains have created a new clothes that will not stand up.Libraries ain't what they used to be: "It's all online now, Scott". O yeah, mis-spelled and incorrect.

Halloween, an absurd derivative day (ain't they all).

The first of November, to Italy, on a belated wedding anniversary trip. Flew the 747 chicken-bus, DC to Frankfurt, got to wait 4 hours before the flight to Venice. I exchanged courtesies with the Authorities, then I explored, as is my wont. Never did find the museum in the basement I had read about.

Then the whirlwind. Venice, Pisa, Florence (Machiavelli's home town, my fav-o-rite, even after 35 years), Sorrento, a sidetrip to Pompeii, then to Rome just in time for Veteran's day. I saw an Ariete tank and a Pegasus 8-wheeled vehicle with a 105mm gun, parked for display near Circus Maximus. "Just enough firepower to get into trouble" as recon officers quip.Leaving Rome, a quick Airbus with legroom (o frabjous day!); another 4 hours in Frankfurt but I had paperwork to complete before leaving Euro space. VAT. Try to get that done at 0730, even in Germany. I did, eventually.

Random images: The fourth version of Monte Cassino, I can see why it was such a thumb in the eye to the allies. Sorrento lemons, the size of a basketball.The Pope, a bowshot away, delivering his Sunday greeting to the Missus and I and 10-15k of our closest friends. The Italian Navy band, forming up and marching from mid-terrace on the Spanish Steps, dressed in uniforms reminiscent of Adm. Dewey's navy. A huge Buddha on a railroad overpass, advertising an exhibit. The older gentleman stopping me on the street to congratulate "Ameriga" on the election of Obama. A quick transit strike on Monday, hey it's a hobby.Many more moments, tedious to you but memories for me. And the food, o the food....

A good dish.

We're getting the first nip in the air in the evenings. Time to break out the chicken chasseur recipe.

I collect chasseur/cacciatore/hunter style recipes.I use Jacques Pepin's recipe (or "receipt",archaically,locally). His recipe is a good baseline to start with. I admire Pepin. He knows the value of work. I bumped into his work early on, before I could do more than boil water; he was head chef of recipe development for Howard Johnson restaurants. They held sole restaurant rights on the Pennsylvania Turnpike many years ago, a true cash cow. I digress, back to chasseur chicken; see the whole point is, what is to hand. A handful of gathered mushrooms (know your ingredients,ahem, very important);some wild onion;a bit of tomato,not a lot; a tot of wine or vermouth; and at the end, tarragon.Sufficient festering time yields a warming comfort food. Pepin's recipe, strangely and presumably to add an acid (why not a vinegar), uses a tablespoon of soy sauce.

Greater minds must help on this question; in the meanwhile I will delve into my latest treasure: a copy of LaRousse Gastronomique,co-translated by Patience Gray. I heartily recommend her flinty prose in Honey From a Weed. My Yankee bargain-hunter side is pleased to have bought LRG for $2.00. Works out to about .20/lb.

"After victory, tighten your helmet cords": Why I like to be a librarian, #1.

Torn from an e-mail:

Also, Project Vote Smart’s purple bus (purple being a blend of blue and red, i.e., bipartisan) will be at the Headquarters library on October 13, from 5-7 p.m. Stop by and pick up information about voting, candidates, issues, and more.

The rush is being at the synaptical point connecting people and information.A safe but ohso satisfying jolt. From a story hour to the proper tax form ("but nevernever advice"), we are there in easy times and hard times.

Our whack is coming, omysistersandbrothers; recession in American means "gut them libraries, people don't read anymore". I remember a recession in a different grid co-ordinate from where I currently serve. There was a great weeping and gnashing of teeth at the cutbacks, closings, and dismissals. Gird up, the boulder is on the way down the hill.

What can we do? Our job, well:focus on basics, emphasize the value of libraries in your communities, and talk up your library when opportunities arise.Keep your heads down and move quickly.

An article I read is informative. The author argues the true model for our current financial shitstorm is not the Depression of 1929, but the Panic of 1873 .

Welcome to the Banana Republic.

The Plan did not pass. The Media are running around waving their arms, doing their job: scaring the American people. They join their Siamese twin, the executive branch, in fear mongering. "Iraq has WMD's": a lie. "Mission accomplished": a lie. "Waterboarding is not torture": a lie. The lies are endless. Congrats, W: you and your cohorts in the "ahl bidness" and associated industries have turned America into a dirty banana republic, like Florida, Louisiana, or Texas.

When people wanted to protest at the Republican convention in 2004, they were herded into "free speech zones" blocks and blocks away. The America I grew up in was a free speech zone: no more. I was in the sixth grade when JFK was shot, and it has been steadily downhill since then. Soldiers in Vietnam who tortured prisoners, if discovered, were court-martialed (well,anyone at or below the rank of Captain:that is another rant) and put away. Now torture is just another tool. An American mother will regret that decision someday. Our beloved leaders tell us it is not torture. If waterboarding is not torture, W., put your vice pres. on national tv for a demonstration.

If you think I am picking on the Republicans, fear not: The Democrats are just as bad. Like Ralph Nader said: There is not a dime's difference between either party nowadays. They are all swine. Bill Clinton, to look like a badass who was tough on crime, suspended his first presidential campaign just to go back to his home state to oversee the execution of a retarded prisoner. It's all spin and no substance now.

My suggestion: Khmer Rouge DC and Wall Street, drive the brutes away from the troughs, out into the countryside. The fresh air will do them good, and they can raise pigs, since they are such experts on pork.

'cane season.

Summer vacation, so hurricane season cannot be far behind. Ayuh, a few weeks into the season, and the southern tier has taken some pretty good whacks. Don't fret yet, folks. They ain't eating the pets and having 'round-the-clock orgies in the seaside condos just yet. Still at the quiet desperation level, mebbe a skosh more to the desperation side than 8 or so years ago.....

First week of vacay is a tale of cat death, absinthe acquisition, rain and tornados.The death of our hostess's beloved pet set the tone in Maine, and it just followed us through New Hampshire. We have lost The Address Book; without it, we apparently are non-persons.

Second week, ah the whole famn damily at the beach, bless us in our little quirks, we haven't taken to axe murder yet. Not even the year at Hilton Head when it rained every day.

I did round up a different clam chowder recipe on vacation.It stood out because it is neither the creamy NE style, nor the Manhattan tomato infused (and tho a diehard NE chowda fan, I am willing to try it, but a good one, not a mediocre version) style:it is a clear broth version,served at Aidan's Pub in Bristol (or now also Newport, the beers are .25 more) RI. O yes, damn fine pubs, too. They are serious about their beer. Anyways, the Boston Herald printed the recipe, and I have it. If you want it to round out yer collection of clam chowders,send me a note. I'll swap it for a smokin' Manhattan clam chowder recipe.

"Whats the frequency, Kenneth?"

An incident on my 48 mile commute this morning stirred memories, like a bite of a madeline. I enjoy classical music, so I tuned the radio to the local NPR outlet, the only purveyor "public" or "commercial", of classical and jazz music in central Virginia. Early morning is news time, so I was not too disappointed when the signal got, for want of a better word, "static-y". This drives me nuts; I would rather not listen than to have crackles in the music. I do not know the physics of signal propagation,but thinking about frequency and signal strength made me remember when I was younger, 500 miles north of here, and the radio I heard then.

I came to enjoy radio when either because of a strong signal or repeating by a local outlet, I first heard Jean Shepherd on the airwaves. It would be late at night, perfect for long range dx'ing, and there was this storyteller, talking to me, telling tales of growing up in Hohman, Indiana. He sounded like he was next door on cold clear New England winter nights; less so in summer. Heady stuff for a working class lad, listening in the dark.

My father, who had a part-time antique firearm business, had an old Hallicrafter "boat anchor" that I am sure he had received as part of some deal in his gun room.My brother and I would go in, fire it up, wait for the tubes (tubes!) to warm up. Listening to that, with the crackle of atmospherics and signals fading and surging, was an introduction to a wider world than 111 Union St. There was a world of sound, of other ways at looking at things, other languages to hear.
Dad is Gone West,and the Hallicrafter sits in the garage loft, waiting on new tubes. There are still sources for vacuum tubes, brickfront and of course, on the web. When a MiG 25 pilot defected to Japan(it had previously been the Big New Thing to Fear), analysts saw the thing was full of tubes: the Russians had, I'm told, developed vacuum tubes to the highest possible level. But I digress.

Radio now is not so much fun. O once in a while I try a little AM radio DX'ing, and if the conditions are right at night I can pick up WBZ in Boston. I talked to Eddie Rickenbacker many years ago when he appeared on a talk show on WBZ. AM is just that now: talk, news, and religion. I have a wee Sangean "World Band Radio" which works pretty darn well, but shortwave has changed, of course, over the years. I still like to hear the crackle of atmospherics when I am listening to Deutsche Welle.

Now when we take a driving trip, we take SWMBO's Saturn Aura, really an Opel, with XM satellite radio. There is no fade there.

Happy Quatorze Juillet,France and America!

France is more tightly entwined with the US than many Americans would care to admit. I have always maintained the most important war was the series of wars on this continent we call the "French and Indian wars". Think on how different things would be if France had won those wars.Goodbye English "as she is spoke", 'alo Francais! Welcome Napoleonic Code (when the wee Corsican arrives on the world stage), au revoir Common Law, Magna Carta, and all that.

And for aiding us during the latter bits of our revolution, merci, France. She didn't act out of kindness, more as a thumb in England's eye than anything else, I imagine. Motivation regardless, we as a nation owe France our gratitude for her help.

"Blackjack" Pershing probably thought the debt was re-paid when his aide said,"Lafayette, we are here" in 1917. A more monstrous enemy arose in 1939, and in 1944 American troops were once again " over fed, over paid, and over there".

The relationship between France and the United States has sometimes been problematic post war. Americans seem to think our allies have to think exactly like us. Wrong answer, Bubba. As I wrote in a reply to the editor of the local weekly rag when they published an anti-French cartoon, France chose to sit out Iraq.2 for reasons of her own, after willingly jumping in for Iraq.1. All the blockheaded legislation to change "French fries" to "freedom fries" (they are Belgian anyways) and other absurdities will not change history. And, to you pinheads who call the French "cheese eating surrender monkeys", remember the words of The Old Guard when called upon to surrender at Waterloo:Merde!.
Vive la France!

"Light fuse, get away"

A pre-prandial thunderstorm assuaged my burning-down-the-cul with fireworks fears last night. So yessss, the Annual Show was on. Young Master Matthew, Young Miss Amber,associated beloved in-laws, and the Missus got comfortable as I resumed the tradition of expending some snappy fireworks.

The trouble with pyro is they are made in China by schoolkids; very little QC on THAT line. This was proved again last night.

FIRST round from Young Master's newly acquired artillery shell pyro shattered its mortar tube in a thunderous explosion. It's feet do yo' stuff after lighting the fuse: once bit, twice shy so to speak. I was o, about 12 feet away. Instead of whooshing up 100 ft. or so, the round just exploded in the tube. It was not a cook-off;it was the first one in the tube. I have heard plenty of frags and seen flash bang grenades go off: this sucker was louder. My left ear still is not right.

"Field expedient methods, gentlemen" came to mind; I grabbed the trusty Black Cat tube;the thicker tube took the pressure swell.

When I stepped off the smoke-filled launch area of the cul an hour and a half later, my face black like Boelcke's after a successful freijagd, I left a tradition restored and strengthened for future generations.

The best pyro show I have seen, bar none, even better than our "mad minutes" in the tanks, was a performance of the "Royal Fireworks Musick" by the Boston Symphony, with computer controlled fireworks show. Natch, the bursts low and high were over Boston Harbor. That's the great thing about doing a show over water, there is the reflectance factor, like flares over snow. We sat near the USS Constitution. It was great sight and sound with the ghosts of tars swirling overhead in the night.

Background Reading Suggestions:

Fireworks, by George Plimpton.
"Lud Kissel and the Dago Bomb that Struck Back", by Jean Shepherd.

American as apple pie.

Willys.,
originally uploaded by scp2695.

Snappy yellow, love a yellow hot rod yupyup. At any road, as some will see, the Willys genre of hot rods come from the coupe model of the Americar, an inexpensive salesman's car. Here's someone who deconstructed a Willys gasser into the stock version in 1/24 scale. He did an excellent job.

Now, Scott, this is a proper blog.

A very knowledgeable film fan talking about my favorites, The Boys.

Thrilling Days of Yesteryear: Two peas in a pod-dah#links#links

Adulation of the Black Monkey

Adulation of the Black Monkey,
originally uploaded by Karf Oolhu.

It was just a matter of time until, youknow, a monkey post. Our simian cousins are fascinating, unless they are stealing your sunglasses or throwing dung at you.
This is made of Legos, and of course, there is a group AND a pool devoted to Lego users on Flickr.MAKE magazine has a Lego category.Legos' robotics stuff looks interesting. Has anybody tinkered with them yet?I have my answer, hmmm,from an Authority with a very interesting site. Lemme get back to you on this, ok? "Live stem", indeed.

Yousee, it is all "live stem" or "dead stem" here at the Shebeen, where,to borrow a phrase from Shep: "In God we trust, all others pay cash".

Hello, my name is Scott, and I am a Flickr addict.

Hydrangea, "Annabelle Lee",
originally uploaded by scp2695.

How pathetic, I'm taking snaps of flowers to just get my Jones on Flickr. I buff my descriptions, hone tags, hunt down comments. Great fun.
It started out as a training exercise for me for the "20 things" campaign. Like Miles said-

Bebop was about change, about evolution. It wasn't about standing still and becoming safe. If anybody wants to keep creating they have to be about change.

Spitfire in the jungle.

Spitfire in the jungle.,
originally uploaded by scp2695.

God I wish I could paint. Isn't this photo of a couple aces and the dog evocative? I enjoy this genre of photograph, particularly the British ones. RAF and, in this photo, RAAF personnel were a little more eccentric in dress than their American counterparts (especially when they are out in the boonies like these guys: they are in Borneo: quick, find Borneo on a map), and, in this case, cooler aircraft. That's a Mk. IX Spit they are leaning against; meant to be a stopgap Mark, it was a potent aircraft,and I believe the most produced version. And of course, there is the general look of elegant lethality in Spitfires of any mark.

Chase, big-eyed, March '08.

Chase, big-eyed, March '08.,
originally uploaded by scp2695.

Here he is, cats and kittens. And well dressed, too!

Typography from Vancouver Film School

I stumbled across this one today , and just had to share. Apparently there is a whole subsub-genre of films, typography being the topic.