Aloe, hah!

The jays in my water oak screamed bloody murder. Squirrels too. I went to my porch, half-expecting to find Tippy Hedron, but the source of their agitation wasn't readily apparent. I stood in my yard and stared up into the canopy. There must have been 30 blue jays! I'd never seen so many in one place. A slight movement to my left drew my attention, and I found myself eyeball to eyeball with a massive hawk, perched in the tree crotch. I'd never been so close to one before. I backed away to fetch my camera, but when I returned, the hawk was gone. The jays carried on for a few more minutes as if to say: "And STAY out!" And then all returned to normal. I felt bad to have missed the shot, but grateful for the experience. And, when I zoomed in on this aloe flower, I found a nice surprise hiding in the shadows.

The good stuff:

adrenaline rush

Diet Coke for breakfast

oatmeal with raisins

lagniappe

raptors

cooler weather

tropical storms

sturm and drang

mentors

getting to yes

Things that make you say, "Hmmmm."

Not sure where the architect was going with this. You've got your cross, some kind of angry prairie dog (with prairie), and, well, yeah. I've opened this picture every day for two weeks and haven't used it. I like it. I just don't know what to say about it.

The good stuff:

Mailbox money

Google Earth

Earth

candy corn

lifelong learning

Cool Runnings

One-minute Aeneid

poppycock

balderdash

tree frogs

Twilight - with cheeseburgers

and this ...

Faerie Garden

Just another one of the slap-you-upside-the-head beautiful reasons they call my state Florida. This is my friend Robert Seidler's backyard in Sopchoppy -- home of the world-famous Worm Grunting Festival (Sopchoppy, that is, not Robert's backyard). Robert stopped in Sopchoppy, suffering from hypothermia on a long-distance bike ride a few years back. He never left. Considering this is the view from his back porch, I can see why.

The good stuff:

azaleas

wisteria

apple cider

hot chocolate

cinnamon buns

tupelo-cypress swamps

quaking ground

wind-up monkeys

paper chain garland

craft boxes

El Langostino

Stayed up late celebrating with Jeremy Seghers and some of the finest people you'd ever want to meet at  Tower of Song: A tribute to Leonard Cohen, at Benoit Glazer's Timucua White House.  Rather than try to write anything that would take me out of that wonderful vibe, I thought I'd just chuck a Godzilla-sized lobster at you, and run.

The good stuff:

The Kerouac House

Timucua White House

West Orange Trail

903 Mills Market

Winter With The Writers

The Winter Park Institute

The Spanish Sugar Mill at Deleon Springs

The Morse Museum

Orlando Fringe

Orlando Shakespeare Theater

Air Andrew

I'd heard that air was thinner in the mountains. But I'd always figured that was just one of those things people say -- like "Juggling more than three chainsaws is crazy," and, "Do-it-yourself brain surgery is a bad idea." So imagine my surprise when my friend Andrew Najberg floated away on Montserrat. Now, despite the pose, I can't say for sure whether he was wearing Hanes, or any other merchandise endorsed by Michael Jordan that might have given him magical flying powers. Being scientific by nature, I'm inclined to believe that there's a perfectly rational explanation -- such as the fact that Andrew is a smoker, so maybe it was all that smoke and hot air trapped in his tar-coated lungs that gave him the extra lift he needed. Whatever the case, I haven't seen him since. -- True story.

The good stuff:

sneak previews

Geico commercials

seeing inspiration in action

wood storks so close you could touch them

great blue herons

pot luck

re-discovering a great book

poetry in public

grocery store food samples

first responders

Schuykill Navy

From the moment I saw my cousin's calloused hands, his arms and leg muscles taut and sinewed as hawsers, I knew there was something powerful and transformative about rowing. Norm rowed for UCLA. I would go on to row for the University of Nebraska, and later the Orlando Rowing Club, touring the eastern United States, plying the waters of the Chatahoochee and negotiating the bridges of the serpentine Charles -- starboard five in the varsity eight, and alone in the single sculls. The Huskers didn't fund rowing as an official sport, so we raised money as best we could -- cleaning up after football and basketball games, selling "square inch" sponsorships on our boats, and holding 24-hour "row-a-thons" on snowy street corners in the dead of winter. As a rower, I'd always heard of the Schuykill Navy, the collective appellation given to the ten teams housed on Philadelphia's famed Boathouse Row, but I'd never laid eyes on this hallowed ground until last year, when I snapped this pic at sunset.

The good stuff:

Bike valet

Rowing at dawn

The harvest moon

vermillion sky

Leonard Cohen tributes

heather

engineer boots

choppers

geeks

madmen

Ascension

Growing up, I remember Mom subscribed to The Bethel Series, a Bible-study that featured iconic paintings on glossy card stock. As the series progressed, Mom would add chapters, and I can remember looking forward to seeing those pictures. I don't remember the content of the lessons. I don't think I was even old enough to read. I think it was probably about the same time Mom was clipping phonics cartoons out of the Los Angeles Times -- black and white Monday through Saturday and color on Sunday -- and pasting them in a black binder she used to teach me to read.

I came upon this monument in a Barcelona cemetery and it reminded me of those pictures. Forgive my crude craftsmanship, but, with the help of a cloning brush, I separated statue from pedestal and added lens flare to create my own tribute to that childhood memory. 

The good stuff:

RAGBRAI

gray geese on black water

frozen fields

the aquatic percussion of irrigation pivots

terraced gardens

yard sales

ladybugs

antimacassars

stacking bookcases

grand openings

Wood shoe like more tea?

A found still life. Again - no cropping or modification required, and the elements were positioned that way when I found them. I just converted it to black and white.

The good stuff:

life lived full-on

lessons learned

friendly service

finding a dollar in the laundry

chocolate brownie gelati at Twisted Bliss

dreamers and doers

the wisdom of irreverent cartoons

daily affirmations

5K runs

Barging in

Just when you think you've seen it all, something like this comes along and proves you wrong.  Pleasure barges are all the rage in Europe. This is one of hundreds moored along the Kennet-Avon Canal near Bath, where pleasure-bargers negotiate no less than 23 small, manually operated locks to make their way merrily up or down the stream. Turns out Handel's Water Music was written for bargers. Who knew?

The good stuff:

spirited debate

the triumph of reason

the rabbit in the moon

The Persistence of Memory

satire

rediscovering old books

happy clients

a hole in the fence

Dodger Stadium

Fall

Out of Eden

Ever get the feeling that God is just showing off? I feel that way whenever I come upon a scene like this -- startling beauty in a perfect frame. Some people look to the heavens for the divine. For me, it's here, in the water lily, or a single, perfect rose -- feel free to add the dew drop if you're so inclined.

Throughout history, fine arts and leisure have been the hallmarks of advanced civilizations. Beauty for beauty's sake is way up there at the top of Maslow's Heirarchy. I'm sure there's a perfectly good scientific reason for why flowers are so doggone pretty -- natural selection, attraction, or some such -- but I'd prefer if you'd keep that to yourself.
 
In my own storyteller's version of the creation story, God is up there in heaven painting his Garden of Eden  like some cosmic Bob Ross: "Let's put a happy little flower over here." It's Take-Your-Only-Begotten-Child-To-Work Day, so Jesus is there next to him -- on his right, of course -- sitting at a Little Tykes table, playing with his I Can Create plasticine modeling clay
 
Jesus watches God paint the scene above. He tries to make a flower out of clay, but fails -- accidentally creating the avocado, the pineapple and the artichoke before giving up and settling for something simpler.
 
When God lays down his brush and goes into the house for some lemonade, Jesus pinches off a big hunk of clay and rubs it back and forth quickly between his palms until he has produced a long, rubbery strand that looks like a garden hose. "Snake," he declares, and the snake springs to life. Jesus laughs and claps and immediately makes another.
 
God returns from the kitchen to find his son surrounded by snakes of all sizes.Jesus, smiling ear to ear, picks up his favorite serpent and holds it out to God, proud and expectant.
 
God frowns. Thunder rolls. "Son, I am not well pleased."
 
Jesus wept.
 
Then, he took the snake he'd picked out for his Dad and threw it as far as he could. The snake flew threw the air and landed in a pomegranate tree. But Jesus's biographer couldn't spell pomegranate, so he changed it to apple later in his ghost-written memoir.
 

And that, is why we have timeshare pitches and Shake Weight infomercials. And why, forevermore, fathers will gladly accept all manner of ties, Old Spice and Aqua Velva for Fathers Day.

The good stuff:

Allegory
suspended disbelief
open minds and open hearts
local cheese
on-demand pedestrian crossings
lofts
rope swings
water skiing
clutter
kitsch

Simple pleasures

A few weeks ago I published an elaborate mash-up of this picture under the heading of "Kaleidoscape."

I liked the effect, but I've had this nagging sense that the real beauty is in the original. Here's what I saw and captured, without any crops or retouching.

The good stuff:

strong coffee

hot apple cider

deadlines and commitments

what to leave in, what to leave out

Bob Seger

English gardens

live theater

free concert tickets

a hand to hold

something to say

Naiad

When she was little, it was ballet -- the short hops and earnest spasms of an earthbound angel whose jetes were still years from grand. But even then, there was the hand - swanlike and graceful, the hand of a porcelain figurine, cool and delicate in my own bear's paw. Perfect - not like the knees that would betray her time and again.

These days, we get mail from colleges -- hopeful, helpful, happy brochures that emphasize the benefits of an Ivy League education but downplay the cost. She can hardly wait for the bounty the daily mail will bring. And she brings them to me, holding them out like she used to hold worms and lizards: "Look, Daddy. Look what I got!" There are spots on those fingers, rubbed raw from work and worry, the grist of life that erodes even as it polishes. We talk about the perils of perfection and the divinity of forgiveness -- of self, of others.

Yesterday, I stood behind the starting blocks, parsing the moment with the surgical click, click, click of my digital shutter, I saw it there in mid air. The swan, rising from the waters. My heart leapt, and it was grand.
 
The good stuff:
 
barbecue at midnight
delusions of grandeur
grandeur
dreams dared and done
riding a bike to dinner
harvest balls
a walk on a cool morning
family reunions
taking lemons and making - a Tom Collins
centipedes

Flight line

To sleep, perchance to dream -- of birds, and flight, soaring high and weightless, on the invisible zephyrs of Brazilian butterflies and African swallows, heaving hurricanes into existence. The Promethian gift. Bird's eye. But not an eagle eye. No. Definitely not an eagle.

Another shot from my walk around Lake Eola in downtown Orlando.

The good stuff:

cupcakes

flight dreams

long walks

anniversaries

parenthood

blues

yard gnomes

Sopchoppy earthworms

bats barreling out of a chimney

libraries

Creepshow

There's one in every neighborhood -- the aspiring George Romero with the Halloween yard display right out of Night of the Living Dead. ("They're coming to get you Barbara.") In my neighborhood, that would be Dano Needhammer, erstwhile Disney kitchen manager currently holding body and soul together as a self-employed pinata maker. For the past ten years, I've watched from a distance as Dano expanded his Mausoleum Museum, adding new handmade features to the point that it now encompasses both his front and back yards. I never had a reason to bother him before I started writing this blog. So, last night, as I passed his house on my way to the grocery store, I saw him working in his garage and stopped to say hello.

Turns out Dano is a horror movie buff, who aspires to be a professional movie makeup artist. He's been studying the craft, and already has a handful of movie credits. Fans of "Zombies, Zombies, Zombies," have seen his work, which was also showcased in "Automaton Transfusion," and "Dead by Friday."

He and his partner Maria Gallagher have auditioned for "Face Off," a special effects makeup reality show on the Syfy channel. They hope to find out in the next few days whether they'll move on to the televised competition, and a chance to win $100,000, in  Los Angeles. He will also be giving a horror makeup demonstration at Screamfest, October 8-10.

Watching Dano arrange the four-inch strips of newspaper and coat them with paste, is almost therapeutic. He says that's why he started making pinatas in March. Whatever his inpiration, he has turned it into a business. One of his large character pinatas, sold prestuffed with candy, costs $140.

He sees real potential there. But his heart is still in makeup and he hopes to leverage any notoriety gained from Face Off into a full-time career.

Looking back, he says that while he never would have quit the high-paying restaurant position, he's been making the most of it.

"I think losing my job may be the best worst thing that has ever happened to me."

The good stuff:

papier mache

pinatas

Centipede and Frogger

Dark Shadows

sunflowers

sharing good news

writing a novel

granola with raisins

gondola rides

celebrating 5 years of love and dreams come true

  

Dancers

The brick and the dancers in this image have never met. In fact, the brick is a reflection of the wall across the street. The dancers are on panels, leaning up against a wall in a window overlooking the ruins of a Roman city, preserved beneath the streets of Barcelona. Before I tweaked the image, you could barely see the dancers. Digital editing flattened the image until it appeared that the dancers had actually been painted on the brick. The reality is more apparent in these two undoctored shots, taken from different angles, at the same time of day.

The good stuff:

red rubber rain boots

serendipity

old pickup trucks

Ernest Hemingway

good history teachers

hand-painting holiday ornaments

camelias

purple Chuck Taylor high top sneakers

vidalia onions

Busker

"What is beauty? Is it a measurable fact (Gottfried Leibniz), or merely an opinion (David Hume), or is it a little of each, colored by the immediate state of mind of the observer (Immanuel Kant)?" -- such was the question posed by writer Gene Weingarten in his Pulitzer Prize winning story "Pearls Before Breakfast," documenting a stunt in which violin virtuoso Joshua Bell -- who regularly sells out concert halls at more than $100 a ticket -- dressed as a street musician and performed some of the world's most beautiful and complex violin concertos for 45 minutes, on a 300-year-old Stradivarius, and was virtually ignored, as a busker in a Washington, D.C., Metro station. You can listen to it here.  

L.A. Times reporter Steve Lopez found the Julliard-trained cellist Nathaniel Ayers playing a battered violin, for real, on Skid Row, and documented the brilliant musician's descent into schizophrenia in another award-winning series that became the basis for the movie "The Soloist."

Dick Van Dyke did a comic turn as a one-man band in Mary Poppins.

And then, there's this guy . . . click here.

Buskers play anything from buckets to, well, see for yourself . . .

The guy in the picture above was tucked back in a courtyard at the Cathedral of Barcelona.

If life has a soundtrack, buskers are a big part of it -- along with crickets, coquis, June bugs, and bull gators. I've been blessed to have seen some of the world's great cities, and heard some of the world's great street musicians firsthand. And, a good street musician is always worth a good tip - you've tipped for much less. So the next time you hear a busker knocking themselves out - particularly if they're really good at it. Break off a buck, or two, or ten. And consider yourself that much richer.

Oh ... and I've been listening to the Joshua Bell link as I wrote this ... OMG! Grab a cup of coffee and give yourself a treat.

The good stuff:

Crystal perfect moments
Sudden love
arboretums
The hanging gardens in the Land Pavilion at Epcot
Park Guell
Airboat Rides
eagle nests
Nutella crepes
curling up with a good book
playing a musical instrument

Champagne wishes and caviar dreams

I don't have anything to say. This is one of those photos that is so full of possibility that I'd rather just offer it up and let you react.

The good stuff

coming to terms with who you are
mot juste
color comics
fog
moors
panniers
honeycomb
popsicle stick throwing stars
pinewood derby
ice-fishing houses

Instant Karma

If this looks like Elsie the Borden Cow tripping at a Grateful Dead concert, then the 60s were good to you. (and yes, I know Instant Karma is a Beatles song, and not by the Dead) It's actually a mash-up of the detail on a donkey cart outside the Italian pavilion at Epcot. Hee Haw! In this blog, I try to celebrate the exceptional in the commonplace -- the magic in the mundane, particularly the simple pleasures of "The Good Stuff." My search for simple beauty often sends my thoughts racing backward down the neural backroads to the funky tin-roofed shack where I keep my childhood. Not that I ever lived in a tin-roofed shack -- I grew up in a suburb of Los Angeles -- I just keep my memories there, because when I visit, I like the sound of the rain on the roof. This journey is fraught with magical thinking. To the point that a simple picture of a Sicilian donkey cart, sparks a memory of a simple children's story, that turned out to be not so simple and I am reminded afresh how so much of what we believe is not based on fact, but on faith, fear, greed, assumption, position, privilege and ignorance. These thoughts have been front and center for me, as we, as a nation, struggle to understand the causes and cures of this prolonged recession, and cast stones at the faith of other people's fathers, because the splinter in our brother's eye is so much easier to see than the plank in our own. If we were to turn the mirror on ourselves for a moment, strip away the magical thinking that allows us to alchemize our own fear and greed into righteous indignation, I think we'd see that religious atrocities cross all faiths, racism knows no color, and greed no political affiliation. Go ahead, you think about that. I'm going to sit here in my shack, listening to the rain on the roof, strumming my dusty guitar and singing songs from my childhood: "Take a look at yourself and you can look at others differently . . ."

And for those of you who came here because of the Grateful Dead reference, I don't want you to go away empty-handed: http://artsites.ucsc.edu/GDead/agdl/

The good stuff:

Paying for a soldier's breakfast

talking to family

glimpses of the person your teenager will become

The Bill of Rights

a walk in the park

the silence of snow

noodlehead stories

Wikipedia

seeing the original

potable water

Bloom Where You're Planted

I saw this as I was driving by on Interstate 4 and circled back around Lake Ivanhoe to get the shot. Hard to do it justice without a telephoto or fisheye, but I loved the 3D effect of the yellow flowers lifted up and off the water, as opposed to the white ones that normally nestle down low. The giant leaves gave it a Johnny Quest, Land of the Lost feeling to it. Plus, I thought they looked like Chihuly seaforms

The good stuff:

Squeezing history out of old pennies

A day of indulgence

Afternoon naps on a warm sunny bed

movie popcorn

state fairs

harvest moons

room to dance

the smell of fresh-turned earth

charcoal starter

dragon flies

 

Portal

Train stations have always struck me as portals into the past. Since 1926, Orlando's Seaboard Coast Line railroad station has welcomed generations to Central Florida. The first time I saw it, in 1985, I had just arrived in the South after 14 years in Los Angeles and eight years in Nebraska. I remember noticing that everything seemed to be duplicated -- two drinking fountains, two women's rooms, two men's rooms, side by side. That's when it hit me -- the reason for the duality -- it was as simple as black and white. That was when I realized I wasn't in Kansas any more. The signs had been removed, but I later saw them at the Wells' built Museum. Later I learned about about the Wells' built hotel, where Ray Charles swept the floors after running away from the St. Augustine school for the blind. The Wells' built was where the African American luminaries, like Duke Ellington and Jackie Robinson had to stay because the rules of the day prohibited them from staying at the Angebilt, the posh "whites only" hotel with the tunnel under Orange Avenue to the backstage dressing rooms of the Beacham Theater. The tunnel, though boarded up, is there to this day.

The good stuff:

butch wax

Bazooka Joe Comics

apres ski

slaw burgers

deep tissue massage

photo darkrooms

model railroads

signed first editions

morning newspapers

Skeeball

Squeally Fun!

I don't know how old I was when I stopped chasing pigeons, but judging from the look on this girl's face, I'm really missing out. It reminds me of the kid in the animated movie Despicable Me with Steve Carell, squeezing a stuffed animal and growling with unsuppressable joy: "It's soooooooo FLUFFY!" Kids experience a whole higher plane of fun. I call it "squeally fun" -- a kind of joyous abandon adults rarely attain. Even the chest-bumping, fist-pumping excitement of athletic competition carries the weight of contracts, endorsements, dominance and despair. With kids, there's no ulterior motive. It's pure stimulus and unbridled response -- to motion, color and sound -- "ooh shiny!" Left to their own devices, kids meet, greet and network far better than adults. There are no strangers, only kids they know and kids they haven't met yet. When they meet, they get right down to business, sharing likes and dislikes openly and honestly, looking for something fun they can do together without regard for race, creed, weight, gender preference, or affliction. Kids look for ways to get along. It's adults that teach them things like "girl games" and "boy games," and the dysfunction grows from there like sugar crystals on a string. As I watched the sickening circus of ego masquerading at religion at Dove World Outreach Center up the road here in Gainesville, I tried to picture the Reverend Terry Jones as a child, chasing birds and sharing his raisins. I read about the school at his 50-member church, where kids are reportedly sequestered from the world and pack furniture that he and his wife sell over the Internet, when he's not talking about burning the Koran (Quran), how his daughter had broken with the church, calling it a cult, and how another church he'd started in Germany, now won't have anything to do with him. I wondered what had gone so bad wrong in his life that he would work so hard to foment fear and hate. Yesterday there was talk he wouldn't do it. He himself has said he wouldn't do it, if the President called him -- attention which, I have to suspect, is at the heart of this little donkey diving show. Peace to all, and as we remember those who died at the World Trade Center on 9/11, my wish for the world is that we will take a lesson from the children we fight and die for, and celebrate all the things we have in common. Because the real lesson of 9/11 is not about Islam verus Christianity, Ismael versus Isaac -- both sons of Abraham -- but about the damage that can be caused by small-minded zealots like Terry Jones and Osama Bin Laden, who claim devine sanction for their self-agrandizing bigotry, ego and fear. If God is LOVE, as we so often hear, then maybe we should spend the next day chasing birds and praying for healing and brotherhood instead of revenge.

The good stuff:

squeally fun

tree forts

songs around the campfire

homemade mini-golf

hide and seek

hopscotch

Hungry Hungry Hippos

Silly String

Silly Putty

jumprope

PB&J

naps

Lake Eola Postcard

What is that "Ting"? Apparently, it's a ting -- a gift from Orlando's sister city in China. Who knew? This was just a happy snap of a pretty corner of Lake Eola in downtown Orlando. As I got to messing with it, this old-timey hand-drawn postcard emerged. If you look carefully through the tree, under the lily leaf on the left, you can see the Lake Eola fountain, and the bandshell a little to the right.

The good stuff:

old postcards

rollerblading

Philly Cheesesteak

Chihuly glass

swan boats

"I Voted" stickers

new car smell

animatronics

sketch artists

zambonis

Magical Mystery T(o)urtle

It came from the creek-- wet and mossy -- and marched with purpose to the curb, where it paused, teetering like a tiny army helmet, before launching itself into the void. The turtle tucked and was safely inside when its shell hit the asphalt with a sickening thump. Without missing a beat, the tiny terapin emerged and strutted across the road with a confidence that could only come from an ignorance of cars or unleashed dogs. I took pictures, and then hung back from the others, who waited ahead in the shade, until the turtle was out of danger. This was the West Orange Trail, the same trail where I had previously photographed the alligator. Today, however, there were no alligators -- no otters either, although I've seen those and wild turkeys at other locations around Orlando. Today, just turtles, tortoises, a dead armadillo, a black racer, three roosters, and a six-foot red rat snake. Another day, another close encounter of the cool kind.  

The good stuff:

cardinal at my window

cupcakes

orange blossoms

Banana Bread Beer

bungee cords

available domain names

bamboo

otters

banyan trees

The Everglades

Mark of the gecko

By day, he's a mild-mannered Cuban anole, sunning himself on a rock, pooching his dewlap, trying not to get squished or eaten by an osprey. But, like the alligator in yesterday's blog, he has dreams. A little fisheye, some radial blur, and some vignetting, reveals this alter ego: Z-Gecko, the avenger. Perhaps not. But that's how I saw it.





The good stuff:
xydeco

Day of the Dead dioramas

flight dreams

watermelon

concertinas

windmills

waterfalls

triple word scores

finding a dollar in the wash

Dinosaur dreams

OK my northern neighbors. Go out in your backyard and bring me the biggest lizard you've got. I'll wait here . . . Got it? Good. Now, as they say in Australia: "That's not a lizard. THIS is a lizard." Alligators rank right up there with Spanish moss and airboats as things I love about living in Florida. This 8-footer was lying in wait next to a retention pond within fifty yards of a house on the West Orange Trail. A fence kept me from getting too close (although I probably wouldn't have gotten too close).  A few weeks earlier, I had to brake on my way home from the trail to wait for an alligator that had crawled up out of a roadside lake to see what was on the other side. Although alligators are certainly common in Florida, it's not all that common to be able to pull the bike over and snap a picture of one. This was a treat. So now we've had: spiders, and snakes, and now alligators. Tomorrow I think I'll wrap up the creature feature with a nice little lizard and then move on to flowers.

The good stuff:

hurdy gurdy

claymation

903 Mills Market

holiday weekends

thunderstorms

dancing in public

blues guitar

The Sugar Mill at Deleon Springs

airboats

stained glass

Um, Darlyn . . . Step away from the shrubbery

Hadn't intended to start a trend, but after yesterday's success at spiderweb photography I managed to get another elusive shot - extreme close-up of a snake sticking its tongue out. This black racer isn't poisonous -- good snakes make good neighbors -- but it gave Darlyn a bit of a shock as I was taking her picture under an arbor in the U.K. pavillion at Epcot and broke all paparazzi on this little guy sunning himself on the boxwood behind. Now that I've done spiders and snakes, I think I may cycle through a few criters over the next few days. I got a shot of an 8-foot alligator last week I've been itching to share. 

The good stuff:

whistlestops

zithers

terra cotta warriors

lotus flowers

hot air balloons

sky writers

coy

mariachis

popcorn

secret entrances

Spider man(ga)

I've always been fascinated by spiderwebs, particularly the ones that appear at dawn, dew-drenched and crystalline, engineering marvels silhouetted in the morning sun, proud artist in the center taking all due props. I feel the same way about good tag art, although the artist would probably be arrested if he or she didn't bolt upon completion. Tag art is colorful and easy to photograph - look for photos of that stuff in the future. Spiderwebs have been more problematic. For one thing, those backlit webs require shooting directly into the sun, which washes everything out. And then, I don't have any special lenses, so I have to get really close to get anything interesting. The photo above was shot at 4 p.m., in a shady corner of my backyard pool enclosure. I had to get within a foot of the spider, so you can bet I looked at those orange triangles pretty carefully to make sure I wasn't baiting a black widow. I think it turned out okay, especially the lace fan effect that appeared out of nowhere as I messed with the contrast, backlight, and sharpness. The spider itself was none to happy to see me. Those of you who know something about spiders might recognize this attack posture as it went all Karate Kid on me. Anyway, here's my first spider pic, for what it's worth. It probably won't be my last.

The good stuff:

Coconut Curry wraps at Ethos vegan kitchen
funny-looking dogs
arts strolls
organic beer
Batter Blaster sprayable pancake batter
anticipation
birthday surprises
laughter
haiku
lightning bugs

Forget me not

This blog is, for the most part, a happy place. Recent hostilities in New York surrounding the Muslim worship center near ground zero made me think of this Holocaust memorial at the Pere Lachaise Cemetery in Paris. Fear is a powerful thing. Here in our country it has led to the imprisonment of Japanese citizens. In other parts of the world it has resulted in the extermination of Jews, and others, because of their ethnicity and religion. We should never forget that zealotry and hatred have no religion or ethnicity. They are universal human frailties. The REAL American Way, as expressed in yesterday's blog, is to rise above fear and celebrate diversity. We are a nation of many colors. We embrace freedom of religion and speech. And we need to always remember what happens when a people let their fears get the better of them.

The good stuff:

college tours

bicycle commuting

butterflies

crickets

trumpet solos

roux

Diet Coke at breakfast

Dictionary.com

activism

prayer

Papers please

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name Mother of Exiles.

From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she

With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

-- "The New Colossus" by Emma Lazarus

The good stuff:

civil rights

free speech

hope

liberty

fraternity

equality

understanding

compassion

love

justice

Les folles au morte

Hey, fellas. Mind if I use the phone? Oh, nevermind. Darlyn and I stumbled upon this couple as I was walking her back from class one day in Paris. Skulls and interesting people, how could I NOT take their picture. They were kind enough to let me and my camera intrude, although, truly, one does not dress like that to be inconspicuous. This pic almost made up for missing the vampire who ducked into the underground before I had fully grasped what I was seeing. I think what I like best is the way they perfectly match the phone in the background. This photo is virtually as I saw it, except that I have dropped the background into black and white.

The good stuff:

Starting a business

finding a soul mate

frog splash

egrets roosting

mowing the lawn

fresh paint

wet concrete

prospects

cul-de-sacs

grapefruit spoons