This year we have 3 pumpkins for the windows. H.o.p. designed the faces for all three, and on the 3rd one he had 3 faces but I was unable to get a decent pic of the 3rd face–not that these are decent pics, taken in a dark room, as they were, with my 3g.
My sister goes prepared for everything, which meant a picnic lunch, which was great as I was starved about the time they took a break and I got to partake.
Most notably, when we arrived there were a number of school buses and the zoo was filled with teenage giants, which made me wonder if some of these weren’t high school sports teams. They filled the benches at the gorilla house, and H.o.p. took the opportunity to grandstand and do an impromptu routine about a primate reality show. “Welcome to the reality show. Oh, no, the plot is not moving along! Reality shows! It’s a human zoo!” I edged in from the side to move him off the stage with my vaudeville cane and we moved along.
The first of these three shots is from before our lunch break, and the next two are from immediately after. I didn’t notice the don’t climb on the statue sign until backing away from the gorilla statue upon which everyone was cavorting and thought it funny, but was also puzzled as I had walked over by the statue before lunch and not noticed the sign, and the rest of the statues at the zoo (as far as I’m aware) are for climbing. When I got home I looked up my previous shot and found that I’d not noticed the sign originally as it was down on the ground in the background before lunch. I was talking about this and H.o.p. said that after I’d walked away he had noticed the sign was down and had gone over and tried to put it up, at which point a zoo employee came by and helped him.
“If you knew about the don’t climb sign, why were you climbing on the statue after lunch,” I asked him.
“I wasn’t. I stood next to it.”
And indeed he was not climbing, as can be observed in the photo.
A little bling, a little spark, and voila it’s light, the light bulb, a Promethean kind of independence from the paternal sun, its friendship and tyranny, which we know but perhaps we don’t too often contemplate as there just doesn’t seem much reason to meditate on what is so taken for granted as to be mundane, but still we know it as a Promethean object, a gift of fire, of independence, igniting thought, ideas, the cartoon figure is perplexed and fishing about the dark of the mind when inspiration flashes and we know what the light bulb appearing over the cartoon figure’s head means, it is illumination and the resolving of at least a portion of a puzzle.
3rd try and I chanced on to an odd one. A place where only on this one arrow is there snow. It dead ends here, the car could go no further. But if you turn to go back down the road away from the snow, you enter a world without snow. Only at the one arrow do you see the snow.
Click to go forward on the Elko Hamilton Stage Route and you’ll see what I mean.
Just a record of H.o.p. having a blast at a party Friday night. Chowing down on chips here before he really got going. One thing he isn’t is shy. He loves parties. Loves entertaining people with stories and jokes. Loves people. (One thing I like about Hipstamatic and Lo-mob is a feel fairly comfortable with posting horrible pics.)
I got the treatment from my 12-y-o today. I was up all night writing. I have allergies. I woke up in a daze, absolutely unable to function. And my son was all over me from the moment I opened my eyes, hugging me, all grins, wouldn’t stop hugging me as he did his manipulative best to guide me to a chair for coffee, there’s coffee for you, mom, coffee, “Wow, thanks,thanks for the hugs, I love you, too, thanks, but can you back off a minute until I wake up, I am seriously not functioning yet”, and still he kept on with the hugs, by now leaping up and down, “What’s up? What are you so excited about?” I asked, nothing, nothing, he says but he’s barely able to contain himself, more hugs and jumping up and down, finally getting me to my chair and desk (I’d stopped off in the kitchen) where my coffee awaited me. I stood there and he waited, this huge and wonderful smile on his face. I looked around. What was up? By now it was feeling like we must have won the lottery overnight and there should be a Porsche or something in the living room and diamonds piled up on my desk. But, no, everything looks the same. No Porsche, no diamonds.
He brightened up considerably tonight after we completed watching “Lost in La Mancha”, the documentary on Gilliam’s failed first attempt at “The Man who Killed Don Quixote”, and put on Mystery Science Theater 3000. That brightening up is witnessed here. “You’ll feel better tomorrow,” I promised, hoping tomorrow won’t prove me a liar.
I read that Gilliam is set to begin filming the Quixote film again in the fall with Robert Duvall.
The last few days I’ve been getting a fair number of hits on my site for “Leigh Bielenberg”, which will have had to do with her death, most landing on the page I put up to do with Leigh’s talk before the Atlanta City Council in August of 2008.
On Monday, Leigh died after another very long battle, one in which she never ceased to display her indomitable courage and near ferocious love of life. Marty, my husband, was a close friend, and while I was not close with her, she was a friend and I greatly admired Leigh. She had a huge spirit.
Boingboing today pointed to this film, “Century 21 Calling…”, dated 1964 but courtesy of the 1962 World’s Fair in Seattle.
Toward the beginning of the film, the camera following a teenage couple gleefully riding the monorail, we get this rear shot of them.
What first comes to your mind?
Me? I thought, ah, so here we have the nativity of the early Star Trek uniform, the dark oxford shirt with brighter cardigan. And I decided to later blog about this astute notice on my part.
I watched the rest of the film then dragged my 12 year old son in.
“Young son,” I said, “come and look at the childhood home of your antique mother. See how the natives dressed. Ogle the Space Needle. These are the scenes as I would have viewed them at the tender age of five.”
I began to play the film for him. The first words out of his mouth? As this above scene played on the screen, he whooped, “It’s Star Trek!”
We’re not even Star Trek geeks. Though I used to love the show, we’ve never watched an episode with him. Yet this rear profile–the haircut, the collar and cardigan–is immediately defined by him as “Star Trek”.