More Macros

A couple random photos I've taken over the last couple of weeks. I'm thinking I might try and go for a more selective approach, like "textures of objects" or "leaves" or something.

More to follow.

It's a Small World After All

I just got a macro lens this week and took it out to try. Holy crap was/am I amazed. The photos I got, the things I saw. It's a whole new world.

There's a whole group of photos here. If you comment, I won't be mad.
More will follow.

A True Loss

I'd hoped to post something sooner about the recent news that Kurt Vonnegut passed away. Kurt Vonnegut was one of my most favorite writers, and, in being so, I was ecstatic when two tickets found their way to my doorstep by way of my kind and all-to charitable neighbor. June 7th, Aubrey and I were going to see Kurt Vonnegut! Goodbye Blue Monday!

I've idolized Vonnegut for some time, and though I'd like to say I've read everything he's written, I haven't. I happened upon Slaughterhouse Five, his most famous book, some time ago and loved it so much that I read novel after novel, and, as I continuously aspired to write like him, books of his short stories. He reminded me a lot of Mark Twain, my all time favorite author, and so I was entranced. So entranced, that last year, at the urge of the venerable Aubs that I get off my duff and stop procrastinating, I wrote Mr. Vonnegut a letter asking for his advice about writing.

I never got a reply. Rightfully so. The letter wasn't all that entertaining. All told, it was kindof selfish. Still, the thought of seeing him, possibly meeting him, gave me renewed vigor. I would meet an idol. Here, at last, was the chance to meet someone I truly admired. And, Wednesday, I was sad. Sad to hear he had passed away, sad to lose such a wise, apt, aware member of a failing society, and sad, selfishly, that I would not get to see him. Hello, Blue Monday.

He told some real humdingers.

It's only appropriate, I guess, that on the day Kurt Vonnegut died, I had begun reading Man Without a Country, his last published book. Since, I have taken his words in a whole new light, with new meaning, extra vigor, more immediacy. He was one of the best contemporary writers, a classic, an original. And who else to quote from about death than him:

We are here on Earth to fart around. Don't let anybody tell you any different.

and, for his epitaph, he asked it read:

THE ONLY PROOF HE NEEDED
FOR THE EXISTENCE OF GOD
WAS MUSIC

and, one of my favorites:

"No damn cat, no damn cradle."

A Novel Idea

Seems like collective stories aren't just interesting to me.

Over at wikipedia, one of my all time favorite websites, they've started a collective novel.

Check it out. Add, edit, do anything, just because you can and mostly because you should.

Picture #10 - Spooky Spookiness

In the "spirit" of this past week's Halloween:

"Jack" shutter: 1.3 seconds - aperture: 8.0 - iso speed: 100 - lens length: 49.0 mm

"Jack Too" shutter: 1/20 - aperture: 9.0 - iso speed: 100 - lens length: 18.0 mm

How 'Bout This Saturday? - ALL DONE!

Success! The first campfire story is finished. Unfortunately not as many people responded but I think maybe the pieces I wrote to begin the whole thing were a little long. Live and learn, right? The next time I'm going to try to keep my posts much smaller.

So here's the deal: each part is reposted along with any additions (4 total) to the story. Basically, the only thing I did was copy and paste the additions into the original post. The comments still hold the additions, but now anyone, including you, that stumbles across "How 'Bout This Saturday" can read it start to finish, top to bottom, on this web page right here.

Alright, enjoy!

How 'Bout This Saturday? Part 1

[originally posted 7/27/2006]
Nelson Smiley swaggered when he walked. When he walked, he walked like he owned the ground he walked on. He'd developed this walk over the years, and since he had been alive for several centuries, he'd had plenty of time to perfect it.

Odd, right? But the fact that he was (mostly) immortal wasn't on his mind at the present moment, nor was his typical swagger. On his mind right then were his lovely girlfriend Cordova, her recent words to him, and the annoying poop stain his cat had on its mouth.

Nelson was on his hands and knees, a washcloth with the bubbly mixture of Ajax and water, trying to woo the cat towards him so he could grab it and wipe the poop off. He wanted everything to be perfect tonight. Cordova was coming over, it was a special night. Their third date. When he asked her out last time, it went like this:

"How 'bout this Saturday?" he said.

She said, "It will be a night you won't forget."

Already he couldn't wait. He wondered what he wouldn't forget? "Mao, mao!" he said, trying to trick the cat into thinking he was a colleague. Nelson had problems relating with his cat because he thought he was superior to it, a mistake often made, and seldom corrected.

Then everything shook, and a loud crack thundered across the sky. The cat stood on it's haunches, ready to flee. Nelson threw the Ajax filled washcloth into the air and screamed like a little boy. Everything went dark, even though it was the middle of the day. A light filled the sky, and Nelson saw what looked like a giant loaf of bread crash in the distance. A second later a thud cracked and the cat promptly fled underneath the couch and proceeded to wipe the poop off his own face with saliva solution and paw.

The first thing Nelson Smiley thought was, "Oh, I hope this doesn't cancel Cordova's and my date tonight."

The second thing he thought was, "I wonder if I should shower beforehand?"

The third thing, though, when he remembered the crash because he could see flames in the distance, was, "Hmm, didn't grandma say once that my immortality and love would both be challenged by a loaf of bread that fell from the sky?"

***

"Ack hack aaaack aack ackkkk!" The alien leader said to the alien pilot as the ship shaped like a loaf of bread spun out of control towards the crust of the foreign planet that they hoped wasn't Earth.

Things had gotten out of hand in the last fifteen minutes. An alien pilot made a miscalculation, someone made a left turn instead of a right and realized too late they were headed for the dreaded Earth. These things happen.

This was not good, especially for the aliens. Officially, the aliens were known as The Aliens from Ackmanabar Sector 5. Sector 5 had gotten several transmissions over the years from Earth, mostly of the ten o'clock news, and they were deathly afraid of Earth for this reason. Especially of a place called Crenshaw Boulevard and another known as New York City. So much havoc, so much pain and suffering, and even though these stories were interspersed with writhing emotional dramas about dogs compassionately embracing kittens, it was not enough. The aliens were sufficiently happy to keep to their own. As far as they were concerned, they never ever ever wanted to even come near Earth.

They did enjoy rap music and polka, though.

Their spaceship was an older one, but was equipped with the shift technology of some of the newer models. Its "skin" took the shape of an object of the environment it entered. The intention was to blend in, to fly unnoticed. Who can blame the aliens if they were unaware that bread did not reach that size? What sense to chide them if they had no idea bread didn't fly? At least it was in the shape of banana nut. At least the alien "skin" had good taste.

Presently: "Nack hack ackkhh shack!" The alien captain said to the alien leader. By the way, the aliens looked like giant, walking celery sticks filled with peanut butter. If you can picture it, their fronts were all green and they had round eyes with coarse green hair, and their backs were a brownish peanut butter color. These aliens sweat, and so when they sweat, especially on their backs, it looks like canola oil. So, actually, they were identical to walking celery sticks filled with peanut butter.

The alien captain was hysterical, as was the alien leader. They had no idea what to do. It appeared as if their ship would have to undergo some emergency repairs before it would be equipped to leave the Earth's atmosphere. In the meantime, they were mostly concerned with staying away from humans and any crime they might do to them. That was what all the "acking" was over.

One could rightly imagine, then, their relative insane behavior, when two pinpricks of light came closer and a young, pretty, very pretty, actually, woman stepped out of her car and yelled, "Is everything alright? Is everyone okay?" They chattered low, to what would sound to human ears just the buzzing of bees, about what to do next.

This was a rather fortunate turn of events, as the aliens viewed it. To keep any crimes from happening to them, to ensure their safety from the hooligan inhabitants of the Earth, the aliens decided to take this pure, innocent woman hostage. They would use her as leverage until their ship was repaired and they could leave safely. It was a brilliant idea, some aliens thought. Others voiced that the woman would only bring trouble, these others strongly suggested the woman be killed.

The dissenters were not heard. Good thing, because if they had decided to squish the woman, it would have been terrible for everyone. Because the woman standing innocently outside of her car, genuinely concerned about the welfare of the inhabitants of the loaf of bread, was Cordova. Lovely Cordova.

***

Nelson thought about going and checking out the flaming loaf of bread, but instead decided to take a shower. He wanted to smell good for his date.

Nelson thought a lot in the shower. Most of the time it was just random things like cooking eggs or making "Moo" sounds or wondering why some people walk on their tip-toes and others flat-footed. Today, though, his thoughts were more serious. He was shampooing, and as he shampooed, he thought of Medusa, the Greek mythological figure with snakes for hair and her slayer, his great great great great Grandpa, Perseus, the famous half-god.

He thought about his immortality, how he was immortal except for his left foot, like Achilles. His mom said she dipped him into the river Styx to protect him, instead it gave him a serious phobia of being underwater, made him bitter about living in the shadow of his ancestor Perseus, and kept his heartache alive with a burning passion. He longed for love. Especially now that he may have found it.

Then he rinsed off the shampoo and started in with the conditioner.

The news was on while he was getting ready for the night he would never forget. He noticed a reporter by the loaf of bread that crashed. He turned up the volume:

"They appear to have taken a hostage, a young woman, unidentified. They look dangerous, but appear to have no visible guns."

Footage played what appeared to be giant celery sticks filled with peanut butter moving around. The celery sticks were moving, parting to show a young woman. The celery sticks had arms and those arms pointed at the woman. Nelson Smiley stopped, stunned.

And then he went to his room and grabbed his shield and, without even gelling his hair, ran towards the flames and the loaf of bread.

"Maooooo!" the cat, who still had a little bit of left over poop on its face, said.

thephotobar said...

You gonna leave some room for us....geezz? :)

How 'Bout This Saturday Part 2

[originally posted 8/10/2006]
Meanwhile, four frat boys high on shrooms and various alcoholic beverages sat on a stump laughing and laughing and laughing at the flames in the air. One of them hiked his shorts up to his belly, snorted, and rang out, "You gonna leave some room for us....geezz?" Then he made a smiley face. :)

* * *

Also meanwhile, The General, a burly man with a wife and two children (he liked to think he had the idyllic life) was being briefed about some celery sticked beings in a conference room at The Pentagon, some 1200 miles away.

"They seem to be alive, sir, the celery sticks." A commander said, as he pointed at an animated map that had a flaming loaf of bread in the center. The General thought to himself, wow, technology sure has come far, boy, I remember when it was just two cups and a ---

A blip sounded in the conference room. Three seconds later the blip sounded again and a little red dot appeared on the map.

"What in the," The General said, genuinely amazed. The dot was moving too fast, way too fast for an aircraft. He had to act and he had to act fast. He turned to the commander, "Tell my wife and kids I'm gonna be home late tonight!"

Then, as if in a western and rallying his cowboys, he turned to the rest of the commanders and issued orders. "Mobley, mobilize ten units and get down there pronto, see if you can stir things up, see what these celery sticks have firepower-wise."

"Jansen. Jansen!" Jansen was sitting in the corner picking his nose and watching the animated flames on the map. He snapped to attention at the second calling of his name. "The media. Find out who knows what and when they knew it. And keep what you can under wraps!"

"And Hergoblitz!" A man with frazzled white hair in a white lab coat stepped out of the shadows. "See if you can't...invent something!"

"Alright, men, move!" The General said. Within ten minutes, the conference room was clear.

See-saws, thought The General.

* * *

Cordova shook with fear. Who were these...things? What was going to happen? They were big and green and looked like celery and, Oh God, she thought, will I ever be able to nap in a sunbeam again?

And while she had not been harmed by any of the celery sticks, they were all looking at her now, and the two approaching her had their arms out, with what appeared to be toothpaste in their hands...

AdamG said...

Just as one of the Celery-Beings was about to reach Cordova, it suddenly stopped, opened its hideous green fibrous mouth and spewed forth the following phrase,"Did you know that the number one cause of death among intergalactic travelers is poor dental hygiene?" He offered Cordova his tube of toothpaste. "While you worm-hole across solar systems in a single bound, munching on various sugary snacks as you break the 4th dimension, your gums are undergoing a millenium of neglect.

Cordova began to wince with annoyance for she had been cornered by the universally loathed Dental Hygenists of Romulon 5, a race of celery beings who ironically having no teeth of their own, feel it their duty to travel the universe in search of dental patients whom they promptly nag and lecture into coming in for checkups where they continue to lecture and annoy them ad nauseum.

The second Romulon Dentist suddenly stepped forward, a piece of waxed string pulled taut between his fists, "One must always remember to floss between tesseracts, lests his gums become receding gooey pockets of intergalactic plaque. When was the last time you had your teeth cleaned, Earth Woman?"Cordova had already had enough. She quickly reached into her spacepack and produced a plastic jar of Pang Space-Peanutbutter. She quickly unscrewed the lid as the little green Dentists watched in puzzlement.

The first Romulon then reached out to offer Cordova a long bristle-covered object with numbers etched in the side, "Please accept this complimentary toothbrush and remember to dial 800-MY-TOOTH for a free check..." At that moment, the first Romulon screamed in pain, for Cordova had just snapped his arm off, and, in onefluid motion, dipped it in her jar of Pang. The other Romulons watched in horror as Cordova happily munched on the limb of their colleague, his once trusty root canal-performing appendage crunching louder with each bite. Several parsecs later, all that remained of the Romulans were green fibers wedged between Cordovas 3rd and 4th incisors. This time she remembered to floss.

zander said...

And then zzzzzzoooooooooooooommmmmmmm! The Dental Hygenists smiled, their eyes unblinking, and turned their heads slowly towards the fast noise. A man with a shield blazed through the cornfield, headed straight for them. The second Romulon Dentist went back for another toothbrush. It was going to be a long night.

Anonymous said...

Underneath the couch, which still sat in Nelson's living room lit up by the 65 foot tall flames still eminating from the alien bread ship, sat our seemingly scared little feline... poop no longer on his face. Seeing as how Nelson was still standing in front of a side view mirror of a parked car trying to get his cowlick to stand down while still holding his sheild (this was quite difficult) the frisky tabby quickly sprung into action.

"Get me central command!" screamed Piggy (named for his unusually short twisty tail) while holding his paw up to his ear.

The response on the other end of the line,"Agent Verification."

"Five, zero, niner, dash, echo, bravo with a hat trick." replied Piggy.

"You are a go. Thank you Agent Carl, you are hot in 8 seconds."

Eight seconds later, Piggy/Agent Carl was on the line with General Fellowes at Central Command."

Agent Carl, this better be good. We were just about to get into disc 3 of Golden Girls Season 3. Damn, we love that Sophia."

"General, sir. the tide is out. I repeat, the tide is out."

"Is this some sort of drill?"

"No sir, no drill. This is the real deal. And General, they've got a hostage. I'm afraid sir, It's your master. Cordova."

"Damnit Piggy, don't toy with me!"

"There's not much time sir, my Nelson has almost pulled out all of his hair trying to fix it, soon there will be nothing but patches left and he'll just throw himself into the fight willy-nilly. We need to mobilize the STF-7."

"We haven't used that since the great war."

The General paused to ponder what effect using the STF-7 would have on today's earth.

During this time, Piggy noticed the floor all around the couch he lie under, glow blue. The moments were become more precious. Piggy was fixated on Nelson, who was still in front of the car mirror with an almost bald head and tuff's of hair surrounding the ground where he stood. But With each passing second the blue glow became brighter and brighter. Piggy knew he had act with - well, cat like reflexes.

He did.

How 'Bout This Saturday Part 3

[orignially posted 8/25/2006]
[Previously: Generals in the War Room deployed, Cordova got a toothbrush, and Piggy, the cat, sprung to action, mobilizing the STF-7...]

In a previous life, Piggy thought, as most people do in times of crisis, I must have really done someone wrong. Cause my life sucks now!

Piggy sighed, and then said, as if he were giving in, "Fire the STF-7."

"But sir," the General called, "you know what this means?"

"I know. Do it."

Mumbles and grumbles came from the other end of the phone and then, "Okay, close your eyes in three, two, one."

Piggy/Agent Carl closed his eyes. The STF-7 could not be seen by human eyes so he wasn't worried about Nelson other than the fact that he was practically bald now. He counted to five and opened them slowly, expecting the blue glow to be gone. It wasn't.

Piggy eased out from under the couch, hopped up on the window sill, and gaped at the blue flames. Then he brought his paw to his ear and asked, simply, "What happened?"

The other end was bustling with activity, and General Fellowes had to raise his voice over the hubb-ubb, "We don't know, but it seems like the STF-7 has gone..." he paused, as I do, for dramatic effect, "stale."

"Stale?"

"Stale."

Agent Carl shut his eyes and prayed a silent prayer for his master Cordova. My God, he thought, What have we done? What have we done?

But the STF did work, only not in the way they thought...

Outside Nelson looked at himself in the mirror, slapped his face, and went to go save his date.

And halfway across the United States, The General was in his quarters thinking about see-saws while his most trusted scientist, Herboglitz, lie dead in the war room, pulverized by the STF-7...

How 'Bout This Saturday Part 4

[originally posted 9/15/2006]
Agent Carl gasped when he looked outside and saw that Nelson was gone.

"Oh my," he purred, again, "what have I done?" Obviously, Agent Carl thought the STF had misfired and hit her trusty master/pet, killing him instantly, but was immediately proven wrong when he saw Nelson's silhouette running in the distance. And then he said, "Oh no, what have I done" because, as we all know, or at least as the cat knew, Nelson's prophecy could not come true without the cat.

And, by the way, STF stands for Scratch Track Fidelity, it's a high-pitch audio wave out of the range of human hearing that is pulverizing to anyone it comes in contact with. It's highly accurate. Usually.

Carl hopped off the sofa and chased after Nelson.

But he would be too late. The army was assembled and had established a perimeter around the spaceship, waiting for a command from The General, who was then crying over Herboglitz's cold, dead body.

Nelson jumped over the army and blasted into the spaceship. The Romulon aliens were quite startled. They had never seen a human man close up.

"He's ugly," the dentist with hair that looked like asparagus said.

The aliens parted, and Nelson saw Cordova. And just before he fainted at the feet of the alien dentists, who would momentarily look inside his mouth and find that he had eight unfilled cavities, he heard her say this:

"Don't we have a date tonight?"

How 'Bout This Saturday Part 5 - The End

[originally posted 9/29/2006]
Agent Carl tip-toed up just as Nelson fell to his feet, but one of the more disgruntled aliens heard the tip-taps of his tip-toeing, turned around, and stepped on his poor little cat head.

This changed things immensely, because Nelson's mythical prophecy relied on Agent Carl/his pussycat to save his life once before he could rise to heroic proportions, and now, without Agent Carl, the prophecy could not come true. Or could it?

Cordova looked at Nelson lovingly, longingly. Oh the time they would have on their date. She was planning on kissing him that night, something she knew would be special. Now, maybe, just maybe, if she kissed him, he might wake up and save her. Like Sleeping Beauty.

She leaned over, slowly, closed her eyes, gently pursed her lips, and put her arms around Nelson.

Then, just before she could lay one on him, Thwack!!!!, the doors to the alien spaceship shaped like a loaf of bread flew open, and The General, manning a prototype Robot, designed but not quite finished by his scientist Herboglitz shortly before his untimely death, stormed his way into the innocent alien crowd.

"Out of my way," The General commanded from his windowed perch inside of the robot's skull, as he proceeded to stomp through the apathetic alien crowd using what looked like a joystick to maneuver. He accidentally squashed a couple aliens, leaving what looked like mashed up celery in his wake. Cordova backed up as the robot approached, and, since the General could not see directly beneath the robot, one of the robot feet landed on Nelson's head in a costly misstep.

At this point things spiralled out of control. Nelson's head burst from the weight of the robot leg, confused aliens were shouting incoherently about the universal need for dental hygiene, beautiful Cordova was hysterical and her mascara was running, and the SWAT team, pulling up behind The General's robot, were willy-nilly firing bazookas. The scene quickly became a bloody mess.

On a monitor in Cat Headquarters, the cat General watched as the havoc ensued, contemplatively brushed his whiskers with his paws, and closed his eyes as he gave the hardest orders of his short cat life.

"Press it. End it, end it all."

He was referring to the "RED BUTTON", the button that would end all life on earth.

And his second in command, Bippy, a gray tabby cat, pressed it.

The world ended.

Now, you may wonder how I this story could be written, or even read, if the world ended. Well, it's too complicated to get into here, but I am writing this from "the other side". You are reading it from the same place. Shame about Nelson, huh? Guess he didn't have enough help to pull through. Things just didn't swing his way, eh? Ah, well, the cool thing is, there's all this eternity in the afterlife, and, well, while there may be nothing left of the material world, there's plenty ethereal-ness to go around.

Be good now, you hear?

Picture #9

"Walking Fast" shutter: 1/25 - aperture: 18.0 - iso speed: 100 - lens length: 18.0 mm