Just Pixels

View of George Town from Penang Hill, Malaysia

2011-12-05T01:16:00.000-06:00

Penang, Malaysia panoramic

2011-11-28T20:07:00.000-06:00

View of Penang, Malaysia from Penang Hill (700m). For reference, bridge on the right is 8 km long - one of the longest in SE Asia.

Tickets, please: a first class seat to modernity

2011-11-22T10:33:00.003-06:00

One of the strangest and most striking things about living in any major Asian city of today can be embodied in a single word: landscape. The word as a concept is fixed, but the skylines it represents in real life are anything but static.

Four years ago I visited Singapore for the first time. When I returned last October I couldn’t feign my wonder at how much the city had morphed in such a short time. The train of development was hastening forward. Ticket in hand, it was my turn to take a first hand glimpse.

This concept of change isn't a new one on this little island or in Asia’s other Little Dragons (Hong Kong, Taiwan and South Korea). These long-shots began their epic ascents into the developed world at unprecedented pace following WWII, even as the dual tsunami of industrial and technological revolution made landfall at nearly the same time.

In Singapore, after independence from Malaysia in ’65, there was nowhere to go but up for this city state occupying an equatorial island with a mere 225 square miles of territory to its name. And up is just what they did - literally and figuratively - with decade after decade of unhindered double-digit GDP growth as the proof in the board-room pudding.

If you look back over history, these kinds of developmental feats are relatively rare, especially to the scale and speed of Asia’s modernization. And there’s much said on this fact. But it’s the same I think in looking on a simple level of humanity - where we see lingering stints of status quo marked by sudden surges of greatness: New inventions, social and religious theories, the burning of coal to power a steam engine, becoming the self-proclaimed masters of our own fertility.

Mathematically these surges forward are an anomaly, and yet are often the defining factor of generations. Think about your own life and the glaring niceties that make your everyday life so removed from your how your parents lived, or even how you lived only a decade prior.

In Asia, change has been the faithful compatriot of the past generation, the latter bent on upward mobility and a slice of the Western-dominated pie. Numerically these new players at the table have been shockingly successful, though there remain untold millions who still can’t even afford the ante.

But still, it’s nearly impossible for me to fathom the reality that virtually nothing looks the same as it used to only 20 years ago in this little island, let alone 50 years earlier. Where small village type compounds shaped the previous generations, looming apartment blocks now fill the need – all in a single generational bound. Childhood homes and memories are only those, as are most green spaces and waterways of yesteryear.

It is fact that millions have mutually benefitted and live relatively more safe and comfortable lives, that much is undeniable.

Even more interesting than the physical dimension though, is the social change, inherent in any major shift of habitat – in this case to urban jungle from actual jungle. While concrete and rebar can be fashioned in a number of months, flesh and blood, the ways of communicating, social norms, neighborhood loyalties and the way mores are all imparted by means of the physical space – these changes to the heart and soul take time. Years, decades, lifetimes it seems, in my own observation. It’s so much harder to unlearn than to learn.

I can’t say for certain toward what end this barreling express is porting us, with me an inconsequential beholder on this unprecedented train ride of modernity. I have my opinions, to be sure.

But if anything has been made clear to me so far, it’s this: I know I ought not to blink, because if I do, I might just miss it.

round and round

2011-08-15T04:46:00.000-05:00

Drying rack

2011-08-05T04:28:00.000-05:00

Skate Cheap

2011-05-16T04:12:00.003-05:00

Dad...why do they call it a budget airline?

You'll see, kids...you'll see...

A cultural kind of slogan

2011-04-18T04:47:00.001-05:00

In the US the government hits us on the head with a threat: " Buckle Up, It's the Law"...or the even more clever an ever unpopular - "Click it or Ticket." These of course are statements directed toward an individualistic audience of would-be perpetrators.

But here in the Lion City it seems even common safety slogans can don a cultural cloak. Filial piety rears its head, even in the relationship between you and your seat belt. Most interesting.

Shop till you (and your cash flow) drops

2011-01-27T21:18:00.001-06:00

No doubt these S'poreans love to get their shop on. But this Marina Bay Sands shopping center caters decidedly to the cash toting tourists (i.e., not me) more than anything. They can keep their brand names. I'll take panoramic photo for free, Trebek.

Siblings peruse the indoor skating rink. Look kids...ICE...in Singapore!

That's no moon, it's a space station

2011-01-27T00:08:00.003-06:00

Johor Bahru customs point. Something like hundreds of thousands of people go across the border between Singapore and Malaysia every day at this point. Here's the new customs building where they gladly take your money for crossing and send you on your merry way. It seems Singapore/Malaysia can't get enough of the modern, space port construction theme.

Boats, beach, bay, buildings

2011-01-18T22:09:00.001-06:00

Moored freighters, looking south from near downtown.

Housing blocks, golf course, construction, greenery of East Coast Park. Malaysia mountains in the distance.

Skin eating fish

2011-01-16T09:20:00.001-06:00

Step right up. Dunk your feet. Let the little fishes do the rest. Yummy...

57-story dip

2010-12-19T09:03:00.002-06:00

(Note: finally settled on a new blog look, if you didn't notice. cheers to the newness. hope you enjoy it. same RIVETING content, different clothes)

Had the grand fortune of celebrating my and Xz's recent bdays at Singapore's newish Marina Bay Sands. Got some staff rate hookups through people at work for an overall great time.

Fun facts about MBS:
-57 stories
-Four years to build at cost of $5.5 billion. Grosses a paltry $1 billion in profits annually.
-Largest public cantilevered structure in the world.
-My fav - 25 cm of allowable wind sway at the top(!) and 60 cm of allowable seismic sway (to answer my dad's question of "wouldn't it just topple over in an earthquake?" seems someone along the line thought of that one. can't get anything past these engineers!)

Here's to closing down what has been an eventful, transitory year and moving in to my 27th with so many haps on the books to come. Got a bevy of blessings in the cornucopia this year, Mammy. Ain't that the truth.

Run an' tell that, homeboy.

MBS looms.

Infinity pool. Pretty remarkable. The Singaporeans were "cold" at the top in what couldn't be less than 75 degree (23 C) temps. Funny. To their defense, it was super windy at the top.

Ling sibs aquatically posting up.

Spectacular views.

Downtown Singapore

And wouldn't you know it - Milt just happened to pop in for the festivities, in Gandalf-esque fashion. Can't keep him from a good time, that one.

Marketing is everything

2010-11-12T02:53:00.001-06:00

I can envision the commercial now: "Oh honey, be a dear and pass me the Collons would you?"...

To be fair, they're REALLY tasty little devils. Call it a hunch, but I'm gonna wager something's not jiving with the translation...

Saturday in S'p

2010-11-10T09:52:00.000-06:00

A few snaps from the hood nearby where I'm currently staying. One thing that has struck me is S'pore's ability to maintain such prodigious landscaping despite supporting so much urban infrastructure. Serious time and effort is spent thinking about maximizing natural beauty within the city, that much is certain. Doesn't feel like the pop. density is really 17k ppl per sq. mile. Two green thumbs up.

Down the block.

Hark! The Great White Gringo takes survey of his surroundings.

Not in Toto anymore, Kansas

2010-10-25T00:33:00.000-05:00

You can expect plenty of shots from Singapore and beyond in the coming years but wanted to whet your Asian whistle with a few quick snaps from the weekend. I arrived just fine last week and will being a'bloggin in earnest. Stay tuned!

I arrived to S'p just in time for the haze. Pretty terrible. It's way worse in Malaysia to the north, even closing down schools and causing a lot of respiratory issues. Indonesia's annual slash and burn...an unfortunate endeavor, that.

Just happened upon these locals on the street who took me in. They're pretty great.

Los niños

2010-10-15T23:59:00.000-05:00

A few shots of front yard jollity with the nephews and their little sis. Also occasion to field the new ax. I have to say I like what I see so far! I love driving it...it is so choice...

These little ones will be much bigger the next time I'll see them, so it's good to work in some good times while I can.

GOOOOOOOAAAALLLLL!!!

Game face

2010-09-29T23:54:00.000-05:00

Joshy considers the world from his kinetic roost, plotting the next move for total playground domination.

Lake Hefner sundown

2010-09-21T23:36:00.000-05:00

And one of the best sailing lakes in the country, to boot...

The River they call Hudson

2010-09-16T00:09:00.000-05:00

Some snaps of the mighty Hudson, taken near West Point on yesterweek's trip.

Idyllic.

Cornwall on Hudson wharf.

What a great dock, I thought. But then...

Turns out it's the most boring dock ever. Seriously...Fun Police H.Q. up in thar...

And lo, an oasis shining in the distance

2010-09-09T23:54:00.000-05:00

TJ's. Would that thou didst reside closer to my Midwest dwelling. Here seen in Jersey locale, near NYC. I realize it's only a grocery store, but I'll be gumswizzled if it's not still like Christmas morning. Unfortunately this establishment was a hooch free variety. No three buck chuck to go around. But dark chocolate covered, sea salted almonds? Bomb diggety.

The West Point of life

2010-09-07T23:56:00.000-05:00

Visited my old school peeps this weekend who're living near West Point now, playing in the bands at yon venerable U.S.M.A. A quick sampling of the weekend's revelries here below. But our gathering seemed to be somewhat more subdued this time, as we're all a bit older, there's now a child(!) in the mix and, well, 11 p.m. bed times seem to be a hard habit to break, even on Labor Day weekends. Great to see the ol Pals and what they're lives are like now, though. Thankful I got to visit pre-Singapore blast off. The internets are good, but nothing like seeing a place in person, no? Iffn's ya fancy a visit to the Hudson River Valley, ye shant ramble away disappointed for vistas.

But moving on from scenery, we found plenty of vittles to wrap our gums around. Took a trip down to Jersey to visit Mitsuwa, a land of Japanese Milk and Honey, it was fabled. That is, a market and food court of decadent proportions. Here we are looking COOL with the Hudson and Upper West Side of Manhattan in the background.

Baby on board. Quinn really got into the spirit of things at the Japanese smorgasbord, even though (sadly) she isn't into "solid foods" yet. *moment of silence* I think she has a lot of chubby potential though, considering her parental roots (viz. the woman behind her).

Rook so good! Eel sushi with plain soba noodles and dipping sauce. All for about $10. Not too bad considering it's near NYC. Great Asian ambiance though. Had to fight for a table among the throng and weave through the ingesting hordes to find a place. Good times.

What was left. *gasps* 'He didn't finish the sushi!!!,' they exclaimed in unison terror. Fear not, brave readers, that's one grenade worth falling on, in the name of caloric honor everywhere. I cracked my knuckles and shouted 'SAVE YOURSELVES' while moving in for final jabs with the 'sticks and wasabi.

Thus concludes adventure snapshot No. 1. Please turn the tape over...

Stu Fam Reunion ot ten

2010-08-31T22:47:00.000-05:00

Stuart Fam Reunion went down in usual congregational fashion a few weekends ago. This is only a portion of the whole pack, but we made do in the beautiful Denver scenery and temps. It's great to have a family that values these types of gatherings and spends money and time to make them happen. Certainly a great bunch of folks! Maybe with any luck our progeny will be able to weed out those SteWARTS-ers.

Getting back on the Wagon

2010-08-29T00:17:00.003-05:00

*Ahem* It's always a bit awkward. To say the least. A bit like a neglected friendship that's a crust shy of a pork pie.

Clearly I realize the last post's been in February. Oh, how I realize this. The anguish of keeping yon faithful readers without every intimate detail of my most exotic comings and goings. But, to spare you the copious details of yestermonth, I'll just splash a few photos your way of the last few months, yes? Reader want a photo treat? Good. Good.

So it's been a heckuva summer (add a "dude" to the end of that sentence if you fancy). And as I look toward moving Singapore-side in about two months(!) to begin working for SIM, I couldn't be more blessed in all arenas of life: family, job, friends, a spot of travel here and there. Ehem...romance. Yes, yes. Kind of a big'n, that.

So I think you get the picture. But I think it's a safe gamble to say the ol' blogging buckboard is off the hitchin' post and rolling again. And I'm riding shotgun, friends. That is, more blog posts headed down the prairie pipeline. Keep your bonnets and buckskins peeled.

Wichita Mountains. View from atop Mount Scott.

More mountains

Lil' G the niece rolled over on the big 1 year old in July. She prefers the shove now chew later method.

One happy baby.

Fourth of July went off without a loss of life or limb. Or fire. Unintentional fire, that is. Here nephew Joshy awakens his inner pyro with a always-popular, gateway firework - yes that's right...the noble Roman Candle.

And lo, Hannah locked on and didst smite her paper foes. It was the first time she'd fired a gun. Don't have too many of them in Singapore or Australia, see. Hilarious racial profiling moment of the day came when Ken, the range owner standing behind, asked her if she knew martial arts. I did not hold back my smirk. Stereotypes, man. Funny stuff. Was also impressed though when Hannah traded in her .22 for a British military .303 model.

Yours truly locking on the 250 yard target with the Brit .303 model. Was 1 for 2 at that distance on iron sights. Meh.

The Fatman reading a little bedtime story to the nephews, with dramatic inflections. "Face Vader you must, Luke..." Carson takes a TO to check on the NASCAR haps in the background.

The niece enjoys a cold one on a hot one.

Joshy makes it look easy.

Okie clouds post summer storm.

The end.

Colorful Colorado Calls

2010-02-03T23:29:00.003-06:00

Well, here we are in February, Friends, and the blog train has not had many stops at Post Central lately it would appear (we've had a terrible time with our coal suppliers out of Shanghai if you must know). And it seems it might be hit or miss in the coming weeks, too, as I venture to Charlotte for two weeks later this month (more info on this to come) and am starting full-time newspaper work...uh...tomorrow! It's so great to be fully employed, after being at half throttle since October. Like, really. What a blessing. It's the same newspaper, I'll just be writing non-sports stories now too. And getting health benefits tossed in the shopping cart to boot. Most excellent.

I'm looking forward to unfurling the journalistic sails under full time winds for the venerable Tinker Take Off flagship. *breaks leg*

So step the mast and hoist sail, mates! There's wind and work aplenty to catch.

But I won't leave you without a pull on the ol' photographic hip flask. No, no. I wouldn't do that. Just enough to wet the whistle, though. It is a school night. A few from my fam's Colorado ski trip yestermonth. We shacked it in a great cabin family style and had a right go of things in Breckenridge. Some choice RUFers joined us for a wolf pack muster and polar bearin', hot tub action.

And my shoulder still hurts from my yard-sale, full-speed skiing wreck on the mountain. Ski-trip accomplished I suppose.

Till next time...

Colorado morning.

Part of the wolf pack, heading up the mountain: Dinah (from right), Me, Mike, Rachel, Josh. (Photo by The Fatman)

So 2009 ended...and then I found five dollars...

2010-01-02T23:09:00.005-06:00

(Kayaking in Colter Bay, Jackson Lake - Grand Teton National Park)

For whatever reason, my personality doesn't often let me sit back and just smell the roses.

Because if I'm totally honest, I'm a schemer at heart. A craftsman of life plans, goals and travels. An OCD ponderer of the future.

I often spend my time thinking of my and others' goals and needs, and how I can get us on that magical path toward realizing them. To be stationary is to lose ground by my reckoning. To stop scheming is akin to shutting down whole batteries of running rats inside my mind. And people, when those rodents aren't churning, morale is down, lemme tell ya.

But certainly one NEEDS to stop and take survey at certain stations in the year and see just what the hey-ho actually happened. You have to rest and simply be thankful that you're breathing and have few, if any, physical needs to be met (if you're like me). And that's just really awesome. I praise God for that, and not enough.

But the time for reflection is nigh upon me, friends. Certainly it is meet and right so to do.

2009 was one for the books. My books, anyhow. As I started the year in Wyoming, with the mercury dipping to negative 30 Fahrenheit, and then ended the year back in Oklahoma, with a record-breaking snowfall of 14 inches just before Christmas, I had veritable wintry bookends. With a warm filling in between (although, thankfully, I missed the worst of the Oklahoma heat).

But to highlight some moments, I've conscripted my friend, the List. I trust he will be succinct, if not informative:

-Rang in the New Year with old and new friends at the Stuart casa, while meeting the extended Ling familia for the first time. Xiao Chen and XiaoYi, you'll have to revisit Oklahoma, perhaps when it's warmer! (for your sakes')

-Won an award from the Wyoming Press Association for my photography.

-Saw B.B. King live.

-Saw some of America's most beautiful scenery with some great friends and family: Yellowstone Nat'l Park two times; camped in Grand Teton National Park; Mt. Rushmore and Custer State Park; Bozeman, MT; Sun Valley, ID.

-Increased my "been-to" state count to 38.

-Lived alone in Wyoming and realized (through the loneliness) my utter need for God's daily grace as a result of those low times.

-Was blessed by really awesome Wyoming friends and a very supportive church family. Holla!

-Enjoyed Wyoming visits by Mr. Loeffler and J Voth and J Aldrich. You don't know how much those good times meant to me, boys.

-Quit my newspaper job and moved back to Oklahoma without a concrete plan(!) of what was next.

-Was unemployed for 1.5 months.

-Became one of those hyped "40 million Americans without health insurance," a status I still hold (although I'm working on that).

-Saw U2 live with JA. Thanks for treating me, buddy.

-Found a great writing/photog job at a nearby newspaper. Then got another paying blogging gig on top of that. Scawing!

-Had a lot of fun with my fam, especially the growing number of nieces/nephews.

-Visited Las Vegas with the Army Band for Vet's Day parade. (was somewhat underwhelmed by the city as a whole, though)

-Celebrated my 26th birthday. I am A LOT cooler now, people!

-Decided on a move to Singapore (Singapore!) to do full-time media missions work for two years. (a big decision)

-Further realized I have awesome friends who really care about what's going on, who I am and where I'm going. I also realized I really need to appreciate those people more. And how.

So how about some pics!

The most excellent Ling fam, posting up at the Stuart casa for New Year's revelries. Braving the comparative Oklahoma cold, they made the venture from Australia and Singapore...not exactly a stroll around the block.

Ah...the lovely countryside of Converse County, Wyoming.

Cold Wyo deer.

How Wyo rolls in the winter. Insulating blubber anyone?

The Wyo Gang on the March ski trip to the Snowy Range.

Grant Teton National Park at dusk. The most beautiful mountains I've laid eyes on. You have to go. Seriously.

Wheat harvest time near Sun Valley, Idaho.

My first visit! With Dave, Sarah and Hannah. Epic, friends. Just...glorious. And I think I'm still feeling that margarita we got in Cody. Sheesh...

Yellowstone Lake partially iced over in May (above) and the Yellowstone River Lower Falls in panoramic version.

Typical Wyo ranch life.

The Oklahoma snow storm to rule them all. 14 inches of powder on Christmas Eve to fulfill even the loftiest of white Christmas expectations and set a new state record.

Happy New Year, friends! Happy New Year, indeed.

Not your grampy's snow storm

2009-12-28T20:59:00.005-06:00

I think this pretty much sums up the wintry onslaught that was rent upon the American Heartland this past week. While there was much weeping and gnashing of sundry masticators, one must also say it was more fun than a great many barrels of primates. Tami won the style award, as you can tell. Good show, I say.

It's not every day you get 14 inches of powder with gale force winds to boot. At least not in Sooner country. Thankfully my Wyoming training kicked in and I knew exactly what to do. It involved cursing, among other warmth-saving measures. But I'm sworn to Cowboy State secrecy with the rest, so I can't divulge here. You just have to go there to learn yourself...

Happy sledding, e'erbody. Yo ho ho and a bottle o' Nog.

Daddy Abuse

2009-12-07T23:10:00.002-06:00

...Affecting more Americans every year...especially around the holidays. Just say NO.

Change Would Do You Good

2009-12-03T23:36:00.014-06:00

It's a hard truth to swallow sometimes, but in reality nothing stays the same for long.

I think it's a natural inclination in life to grasp those moments and respites when things are good. When friends are near, family is placid...when there's a chilled beverage in your hand and your team is up by three touchdowns with BCS scenarios forthcoming.

And we like to march into those moments and setup camp. We like to pitch our little tents and say this...(this!) harmony is the new normal. I'm happy with my life and I'm never setting foot out of Camp Happy again. It's farewell to the rest of the world, cause by gum, I'm happy. And that's all that matters.

But gee willikers, Batman! That's just not reality.

Not that I'm coming off a particular loss of my own or stomaching an unwonted disturbance in the force. But life has, over the past year, impressed on me the need to realize those moments of respite are NOT the norm. Indeed, those moments are the exception.

They are beautiful moments of special grace and are to be cherished to the fullest. But normal? Hardly.

For about the past year I've had a blithe interest in the psychology of survival. Not really like Bear Grylls does it (although, swoon, what he does is certainly along the same lines).

But why do some live and others don't? Why do some cope and thrive and others implode into a fractionated existence of despair?

But more than knowing how to survive in the Amazon jungle by drinking your own pee (which, they say isn't advisable, btw) and killing wamp rats for food, survival is an everyday commodity with everyday implications.

When the car doesn't start. When you lose your job. When people fail you. When major life plans get screwed up. When you're lonely. When your life expectations are mercilessly trampled.

What do you do? How do you cope?

How do I cope?

Good questions, certainly. And ones we should all try to quell with some meaty answers.

I'm reading this book about survival right now. I recommend it.

It says:

"The best survivors understand that normal is just a fleeting state of mind. Indeed normalcy may seem steady and constant, but it's really just the intermission between the chaos and messiness of life.

"Survivors accept that life probably won't ever return to the way it used to be. So they let go, adapt, and embrace the 'new normal.'"

Some pretty heavy words that can be quite anxiety-inducing just by reading them. To be certain these words bring much chaos to our tranquil, American Dream-laden Camp.

But more and more I'm realizing that survival is a choice of sorts. We can't choose our circumstances but we can choose our responses.

And really, how in control of our lives are we anyway? Seriously. Think about the 1 million variables we have zero power over...

*Pause for antacid tablets.*

And now, with our nation and world at a unique point of tension with job loss, wars, roiling debt and self-serving politics on all sides, we have myriad real-life applications for survival. The stage is ours, in a sense. How will we perform? Like our own Discover Channel docu-drama, will we make it out of the Amazon? And once we get out, will we ever find Camp Happy again, if only a remnant of its former glory?

To be honest I haven't really gotten that far in the book to give you some better answers, but YES, know there are ways out of the jungle.

And we all possess some weapons to battle our perils and those of our kinsmen (and kinswomen). Affluence and stubbornness has just blunted our survival A-game. But we can reclaim some of it with time and effort. And by hanging on God to daily meet our weighty shortcomings.

If we realize that it's good to struggle and that we grow through it then we don't have to despair when life pulls a charlie foxtrot on us. Indeed the snafu becomes the new plan. The new normal.

It's interesting that we have to release our expectations and change in order to arrive at a new place of stability.

Do you let go of expectations? Do you change for the better?

Do I?

And are we really THAT cool to begin with, that change is bad?

Gee willikers, Batman. Gee willikers, indeed.

"Survivors aren't superheroes who vanquish adversity every time and live happily ever after...They're regular people who win some and lose some.

"They overcome adversity but they don't necessarily accomplish it in the same way. They aren't always adaptable and optimistic; they feel stuck and gloomy, too.

"Ultimately what defines a survivor is the talent for making the most of life, however much remains."

Dear BCS, I'll have the buster please...

2009-12-01T00:02:00.003-06:00

In Fort Worth, Texas they have somewhat of a epic in the making.

Thus, from what's one of the feel-good gridiron stories of the year, I bring you some first-hand photo documentation.

It's true the BCS is full of self-serving pundits who are even more power hungry than they are money mongrels (which is surprising).

And this year, like those in the past, Gary Patterson's Horned Frogs are suggesting these pundits (among other things) are full of crap.

And so it seems TCU didn't conquer the world with guns this season. But they just might've done it with a flawless string of peals in the "W" category.

And, now that our Sooners trounced Oklahoma State last week, it seems likely the BCS Buster Bus will pick up a few more wayward chillens before dropping decisively down upon the post-season pundit park.

I can only hope there's chaos aplenty and many an ogreish oath spoken in backlash of "the system."

OU's not playing for anything spellbinding, so it's a pointedly good year to churn the bowl-game pot, no?

Of course you agree.

But here's a sampling from the TCU v. Utah game of yesterweeks. Bro-in-law Sam scored me a sideline photography pass, in keeping with the finest bro-in-law form. (Rule, Britania!)
Look for some more pics of the game to follow shortly.

Push em back, push em back, waaaayyy back.

Sam and Laura, relishing the post-game nostalgia.

A piercing message.

Better warm up the bus, Utah...

Friday Night Fights

2009-11-23T12:34:00.002-06:00

OUCH. I don't understand why people want to do this, but you gotta respect their gusto.

Playing in the rockin bell band

2009-11-18T22:18:00.009-06:00

(me and bell choir stand partner)

They say you never forget your first time.

First time to play in a hand bell choir that is.

And so it goes that Thanksgiving Day will be my maiden hand bell voyage with the All Souls' Episcopal troupe. But instead of cracking a bottle of Dom P. over the bow I'll be tickling some brassies with fellow ringers. Choice. All told I'm quite elated.

For whatever reason I've always wanted to be in a hand bell choir. The girls, the cash, the prestige. And, mhhm...the svelte ebony gloves. All things I idolize in life, really. But don't worry, I won't let it change me...

Bells represent a brilliant pairing of tonality with percussive action — tactile musical bliss in hand-held form. And I mostly specialize in four notes: G, G#, A and A# just below middle C — kind of your mid-range tonal arsenal, as far as hand bells go.

So that's it. Check it off the list. I think I've reached my life summit, friends. And I'm not even 26 years old. Not a bad go of things all told.

But it doesn't stop there.

I'm also a chorister these days too. A rekindling of former vocal mediocrity. It's divine (in a mostly temporal way).

Several weeks ago (on All Saints Sunday) we sang the Schubert Mass in B flat major at church. It was divine (in a more eternal way). Here's the mass' Gloria. You should listen to it if you want to connect with something larger than yourself.

I've been at All Souls' for about three months now and it seems my life is on an ever increasing high-church trajectory. For starters I wear a cassock and surplice every Sunday. How did that happen?

But the Episcopal tradition is a simplistically beautiful one I think. I love the symbols and the sensory elements of worship. And chanting is just plain cool.

And now, as we're moving into the especially meaty portion of the liturgical year there are good things on the menu. You can keep your holiday muzak. We've got the real deal at the Souls': vocal, orchestral, percussional.

Divine.

Ring it like a polaroid.

Father and Son

2009-11-15T22:59:00.000-06:00

(and brother and nephew to me)

Pain is...

2009-11-10T00:39:00.002-06:00

Pain is weakness leaving the body...

...or just a padded right hook smashing your face.

*fun times on the Tinker sports beat. go team*

Not your grampy's Horned Frogs

2009-11-04T23:20:00.005-06:00

It's always nice in fandom to have a good backup. Your go-to team that's a good rebound when your No. 1 is down and/or out. Turns out TCU might be my rebound this year (how dare you judge me)

But I've been strongly pressured in this direction in recent years by the family addition of two TCU super-fan bros-in-law. And maybe, just maybe, I finally drank the Kool-Aid this past weekend. Dang that peer pressure...

So it was that we enjoyed a good-ol butt whoopin of UNLV at the hands of a very impressive TCU unit. With my Sooners riding the comparative BCS short bus I'm okay having a backup Purple and White hip-flask to go with my Crimson and Cream coozy...

But anyway, here are several photos with which you may wet your whistle. It was a great game and weekend. Go Frogs. Boo Iowa...and Cincinnati.

Yeah!!!!....yet another touchdown as we run up the score on a lackluster team!!!

Homemade ingenuity. Poor Frogs, can't get any love with their Mountain West caste. Somebody needs to call the ACLU...

Yeah band! Sorry, I had to, it's in the fine print. These guys rocked a halloween Thriller show though. They did the dance on field and everything. Super bandee envy!

Pre-game Awkward

2009-10-26T22:45:00.002-05:00

Not a bad genre piece. And the presence of Baylor's football team in any photo background is pretty awkward in its own right, am I wrong?

Bros.

2009-10-25T21:22:00.001-05:00

The nephews take survey of a setting sun over Lake Thunderbird. (photo by my bro)

One shot, One kill

2009-10-23T00:48:00.007-05:00

My brother killed a deer with his bow and arrow last week. It was his first animal taken in such a fashion, after several years in the sport.

So he took the shot, there was no danger, and the end result was a smallish Bambi Twohorn corpse that will feed Mammy and the chillens come winter.

But I'm proud of my bro. Not every man can shoot a deer in the spinal chord, through the heart, through the lungs and out the other side while perched on a platform 20 feet above the forest floor. I think even Davy Crockett gave my brother a here-in-spirit coon-skin-cap nod from the grave.

Here we are with the primary incisions while gutting the beast. I remember back when my family lived in Maine and we saw a guy cleaning a black bear like this. I was five and the bear seemed HUGE. Probably where my bear phobia originated...

But thankfully animal blood doesn't bother me. Only the human variety (especially when paired with needles). But we got 'er gutted alright. Good eatins for nearby coyotes. Gut pile a la carte anyone?

Family shot around the deer. Nephew Joshy: "Can I touch the eyeball?" "Yes, son. You can touch the eyeball."

And a shot of the nephews-on-car-with-football to grow on.

Where the Streets Have No Name

2009-10-19T22:21:00.006-05:00

Before last year my live concert ace of spades was seeing Ben Folds when he came to OU in Ot Five. It was, in a word, rockin', which is appropriate for Mr. Folds.

And yet my mountain top concert experience wouldn't come until later.

Last year I had the exquisite fortune to see both Willie Nelson and B.B. King live in, to my surprise, Wyoming. This proved the fact that amazing things really can happen in a desert. Just ask the Israelites. And how.

So Willie and B.B. are hard to best. They are truly world class. Their stage presence and musicianship are sweeter than honey. And I saw them both for FREE. I have great friends...

And then we have U2 last night, which is in a different category all together. I was still in the womb when the Irish rockers last played in Norman. It was June 1983 and, sadly, my parents weren't fans at the time so I don't have a nifty "I was there in the oven" story. If only...

And I won't belabor the point with personal anecdotes, but U2 was a true sensory explosion, to the point of overload at times. I was agog, and taken back to the numerous moments of singing along over the years, which all led to the concert Sunday. Sheer beauty.

And if they say Sesame Street ruins your attention span I'm not sure in what state a concert like U2's leaves you. Perhaps time will tell, but I hope it won't ruin smaller venues; a once-and-done Debbie Downer on all future concerts. But I don't think it will.

So indeed these are interesting times. I would say I'll never see a display like that again, but I don't think that's true, as the bar's been raised to unbelievable heights the world round (see Beijing last summer). And there's little limit to what mankind will hatch up.

So it seems U2 is the new sensory mountain top of the Grandiose Genre. For now, it's my new ace.

Goodnight, Norman!!!

The Mothership stage pano. Unbelievable. 70 semis worth of gear to set it up! (although half of those are actually just beer trucks for the Irish techies). At least you have to agree the concert was better than what we've mostly been seeing from the football team in Owen Stadium this year...

Justinius, pre-concierto. Excited, yet timid.

Black Eyed Peas opener. I'll admit, I yelled 'LOUDER' after they said 'PUMP IT!' My Humps...hmm...still powerfully non-ideal.

But on to the real deal! Meet the cast: Adam Clayton, arguably the most underwhelming and replaceable of the troupe. Also showing his age the most of the quartet. But he's still grooving it out, old school.

Larry Mullen Jr.! Still rockin it. Has anyone heard this man speak ever?

Delicious. Our old friend, The Edge. You know it's serious when you have THE as a first name. And he's earned it, certainly. He's definitely my fav. You can keep Bono. I was so hoping for a solo of Van Dieman's Land from this character, but what can you do. These aren't the golden 80s anymore. But man, even this guy's walk screams ROCKER.

I wanted to cry when he lit into the opening riff for Where The Streets Have No Name. That song made my night.

Bono Vox. Fun Facts: his real name? Paul David Hewson.
Yeah, not as cool. If you're worth 200 Mil you get a cooler name too though, so there's hope.
Captivating stage presence all told.

Desmond Tutu telling us to care about the impoverished world.

Sunday Bloody Sunday, while drawing attention to Iran's recent political injustice.

Sensory explosion rock out.

The Cutting Edge

2009-10-16T00:38:00.004-05:00

Stay tuned for a very chic, very raw genre, my peeps.
Best bring your thick skin, cause it just might cut you.

Panoramic Picks

2009-10-13T17:12:00.004-05:00

Some good ones from the summer travels out West. Click to make bigger.

Great Salt Lake, Utah.

Hyalite Reservoir near Bozeman, Montana.

Yellowstone River Lower Falls, Yellowstone Nat'l Park.

Papa Stu and wheat field near Idaho Falls, Idaho.

Colter Bay, Grand Teton Nat'l Park. Notice kayak tip.

More Tetons.

Sun Valley, Idaho, at ski mountain summit.

If the brows could talk

2009-10-12T15:59:00.002-05:00

My sister's baby has some killer brow control for a three month old. Many a thespian has toiled away the hours in front of a mirror to practice what she already has.
It's cute now, but come teen years? LOOK. OUT.

Scheming to take over the world.

Da. Boys.

2009-10-11T23:20:00.003-05:00

Good friends come visit even when you live in Wyoming. Holla.

Jerry's House panoramic

2009-10-10T00:26:00.003-05:00

As the Sooner gods would have it, I happened to be at the first ever college football game played in the new Dallas Cowboys stadium. It was back in September. OU played BYU, in case you weren't following.

While I can't say it's thrilling to see your Heisman quarterback go down with a serious injury and your team lose by one point to Brigham Young, the stadium is nothing short of astounding. Thank you tax payers of Arlington, Texas. Good to see we're building $1.2 billion stadiums in a time of immense recession.

The screen is something like 80 yards across and seemingly HD quality. This is important as the "cheap" (relative term) seats are about 10,000 feet above the playing turf and include oxygen masks.

I think it seats about 75,000 peeps all told, which means 65,000 folks leave when OU is down 14-13 late in the fourth quarter with no sign of hope. Why again did we schedule BYU as the first game of the season?

Anyway, I'm over that. Here's a three pic panoramic of the Death Star that Mr. Jones built. It is a practical place of worship.

The Truth Is Out There - The Bigfoot Chronicles

2009-10-08T22:21:00.010-05:00

If I'm honest with myself I've always believed. At least a little bit. Imagination was never really a problem you see. But it seems it's getting harder to doubt the more I learn.

Friends, I have a most dire proclamation, commanding your most sincere consideration.

This isn't easy for me to say...

...But bigfoot might be real.

I know. Take a breath. Maybe a draught of SoCo or three.

If you're like me you grew up in the woods and this new found consideration makes you retroactively fearful of WHAT could've been in the woods with you all those years.

As a bigfoot believer said: "It's not that I'm afraid of the dark...just afraid of what's IN the dark."

Jinkies.

But this is merely the tip of a very hairy iceberg my dear chillens.

So it was that the 2009 Honobia Bigfoot Festival came and went. It was in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma and the camping was great if not a bit spooky. Heidi and I even went out on assignment with some of these bigfoot "researchers." It was hella dark and they played bigfoot call blasts over the loud speaker (to entice bigfeet, obviously) and banged on trees with sticks ("wood knocks").

One guy had a .45 strapped to his leg "in case they get right on top of us." Apparently everyone is packing heat on these bigfoot "research trips". Is anyone really surprised? All told we might've heard a bigfoot "whoop" in the distance round midnight. Maybe. But it was quite entertaining and a tad bit surreal. Are we REALLY out here doing this? Yes, yes we are. So what does that say about us?...

But just to clear things up, we're OKAY. Thanks though for your concern on our behalf. No bigfoot attacks to report, and nary a sighting to speak of. Gracias a Dios.

Heidi also earned her Faithful Random Friend merit badge for her attendance. Funny how few people want to attend a bigfoot conference mid-week in backwater, America.

But the festival was far from a revival and yet I came away with a gospel message of a different color.

During the weekend Heidi and I heard from prominent bigfoot "researchers" in the area and nation. These were the pros, friends, and they are a curious breed.

Long story short, these people are largely backwoods in nature. Surprised? Really? While I'm personally fine with this, the presence of a camouflage L.S.U. hat on your nog doesn't really help your credibility (Tiger fans please take offense). And yet, these people have some rather provocative first-hand bigfoot stories. I couldn't get enough. And I've never seen so many willing orators in my life. Sheesh.

But there are others who believe too. A lot of white collar folks. Some with PhDs and highly legitimate civilian jobs on the outside. Certainly all these factors should be considered.

So my main questions are thus:

Why have there been so many alleged bigfoot sightings of roughly a similar nature over a multi-century time frame? Are there truly thousands of off-their-rocker yokels? Or, is this an impeccably crafted hoax spanning multiple generations and thousands of miles? Or both? Are ALL these people lying? Or simply mistook certain creatures for bigfoot?

One theory debunking the Loch Ness monster is that sightings only started in the 1930s. No previous history makes the B.S. flag angry, so the critics say. In contrast, sasquatch has been cracking open natty lights on red neck porches since the early 1800s, according to some books I perused (yes, I peruse bigfoot books. there i said it). Whatever bigfootish thing people have seen, they've been seeing it for a long time and have been writing it down to boot. Most curious.

Now really. Are there that many nut jobs? That many mistaken observations?

Or do people just WANT to believe in bigfoot and therefore yarn their tales at will?

Or, could it be that there's REALLY something out there? (Mulder and Skully enter stage left) We think the world is so small and yet there are some flipping REMOTE places right here in our own Fifty Nifty that we don't fully know about. Believe me. I lived in Wyoming. I know.

But the bigfoot pros say there are only between 2,000 and 6,000 bigfoots in all of North America. They think bigfoots are highly intelligent, masters of their terrain, and can therefore elude detection like Friar Tuck on his way home from the pub.

There have been bigfoot reports in every state (including an alleged sighting near Norman's Lake Thunderbird) except Hawaii, citing bi-pedal creatures with a mid-tarsal joint on the feet (like primates). They come in several colors: brown, black, reddish, blondish and occasionally leopard print (they can't get enough of Halloween, so they say).

Bigfoot likes his terrain like his women: rough and quiet. They are said to live in clans of three to 20, roaming a large home area and never staying in one place for very long. They are smelly brutes and, debatably, have a marsupial pouch for the sole purpose of hip-flask storage (reports are inconclusive on that last fact).

BUT MOST INTERESTINGLY (all sarcasm aside):

Folks now think bigfoot has his own language.

Really.

A former Navy cryptolinguist gave a spiel on this. He's firmly convinced of it and thinks sasquatch has a vibrant language that he and his pals use to talk about who's gonna catch dinner that night, whose female is knocked up A-GAIN and who's gonna win the Bi-Ped Bowl come February. You know, the essentials.

But seriously, this guy really believes this. And he's putting serious time and effort into proving his beliefs. Scott Nelson is his name. Here are his creds. Do you think this guy is off? What DO you think?

Are we gonna see Bigfootese on Rosetta Stone shelves soon?

Probably not, but Nelson makes some very compelling arguments for bigfootkind (i.e. he's working on a bigfootese alphabet and hopes to talk to bigfoot in his own tongue).

So, anyway. There's a big world of info out there on sasquatch. More than you care to know, I know. I don't even know why I care so much. It's the intrigue appeal I suppose.

So what are we to make of this friends?

Is the truth really out there?

Land ho! Our campsite in Honobia, OK: Christ's 40 Acres. Lovely place, really. Heidi, posting up.

Beauty scenery. We were in SE Oklahoma, about 50 miles east of Antlers, OK. Yeah seriously, WHERE'S THAT? But most bigfoot sightings are in this part of the state. Not sure King Cong would get noticed in those woods...

Dense terrain.

Wait...I think I see something...

............false alarm...........

Campsite. Our tents are in the middle there. Nice short-leaf pines everywhere.

Bigfoot story campfire! So good! This guy has seen bigfeet several times down there.

Dr. Jeff Meldrum during his presentation of cave drawings depicting bigfoot. He's a prof at Idaho State and he has a new book out which you can actually buy on Amazon. NO, I didn't buy the book. C'mon, people. I check mine out at the library, seriously.

Cryptolinguist Scott Nelson during his presentation. He played a bunch of alleged bigfoot conversation snippits for us. Pretty wild.

Festival flair. Yum.

Forest cruising.

Former Honobia, OK post office. Apparently it was the smallest post office in the US in its day. Coincidence?...the country's smallest post office in bigfoot territory. I wouldn't want them in my post office either, tell you what.

for other light reading, might I suggest:

-A very spooky bigfoot encounter

-Bigfoot Research Organization

-North America Bigfoot Search

One big foot for mankind

2009-10-01T09:47:00.002-05:00

There are those times in life when things just work out. Constellations align, the soothsayer's intestines spell fortune and you can feel yourself cresting the last rise of Goal Mountain's summit.

Which brings me to the point of bigfoot. I have a blithe obsession with the beast. And this weekend I will, perhaps, meet him (or her) face to furry face.

I find if you have your expectations set low enough in life, you can never really have a bad time. So when it comes to Oklahoma's Honobia Bigfoot Festival, I'll be moving on the event with an open mind and empty expectation satchel (though with a definite burning in the bosom).

And yes, friends, it's true. Cohort and budding bigfoot enthuz Heidi and I will converge on southeastern Oklahoma (you know, where the bigfeet live) for the two-day festival in honor of these elusive beasts. I first spotted this festival several years back after an OETA special. I was HOOKED.

So fare thee well, friends of the light. I go to be with the freak footed ape-men of the dark.

If you don't hear from us in a few days, send in the posse. And ensign...set phasers to KILL...

A farewell to Wyoming

2009-09-22T23:41:00.002-05:00

Note: Though it's about a month old now, here's my farewell column that ran in the newspaper the week of my departure in August. I'll miss writing columns, as they were basically blog posts guaranteed to be perused by about 4,500 readers. That's pretty nifty. I doubt I'll ever have that many reading on here.
____________________________

Headline: Bidding adieu on wave of change

John Stuart
Out my back door (the name of my column)

They say change is the only constant in life, the only sea upon which we venturers set sail.

And for some, this idea represents a veritable quagmire of fear and angst, as one contemplates the vast unpredictability that is life.

And yet for others, the advent of a morphing societal canvas represents a challenge and a delight — an opportunity for learning; an opportunity for adventure.

But what does this have to do with Wyoming? Well, I’m getting to that.

You see, friends, whether you know it or not, my professional hourglass is nearly expired in the fine Jackalope City. That is, Aug. 19 is my last day at the venerable Douglas Budget newspaper and soon the words “John Stuart” aren’t ones you’ll see each Wednesday. The name will be as mere vapor of yet another reporter gone by.

But I’ll return to this point shortly. Back to my starting line. . .

I changed schools 12 times from when I entered kindergarten till I wrapped up high school. Although I lived in the same town, the winds of change seemed to accompany me like a bad habit.

Despite dwelling in the same house throughout my childhood, the school audibles were ones I lobbied for to my parents — swallowing a scholastic cocktail in the form of home school, private and public institutions during my K-12 tenure.

Thus change was often my norm, bolstered by a solid family life, as I even bobbed from school to school between semesters on occasion.

I loved the contrast of personnel. The difference in rules and the fresh breath of perspective at each change. Some years I tucked my crisp shirt in and wore a belt. Others I simply rolled out of bed and could slouch to my heart’s content.

When it came time for yearbook autographs the vanilla adage “Have a great summer. See you next year” wasn’t always the truth.

But I had amigos at each school and above all I loved the science of human interaction and how social groups functioned — an interest I carried into my adult life.

Not even my unsuccessful bid for fourth-grade school vice-president (dang teacher’s kid stole the election) allayed my interest in the undiscovered.

Side note: You’d think a flawlessly delivered speech to the 500-person student body and Beach Boys “409” entry music would cinch the deal. Seriously.

End side note.

But this interest in humanity is what brought me to Douglas from my native Oklahoma soil. A blatant curiosity in the unknown. And that’s certainly what I’ve gotten these past 12 months.

When I first arrived in town there were several bits of advice and warning offered in my direction:

1) There are “lots” of “single ladies” at the church I was attending. The message was uncanny.

2) Winter will be COLD. I might shrivel up, develop unhealthy addictions or die.

3) Everybody knows everybody else, so don’t say nothing about nobody.

And these are wise tenets to be sure, particularly that No. 3...and how.

But the most notable thing I’ve observed is the sheer spectrum of life in this small community, as observed in my sundry assignments. From sex offender court proceedings to local government rumblings to stories about charming, 104-year-old grandmas, it’s been a well-rounded year.

I traipsed the barren expanses of the North Antelope Rochelle Mine and snapped photos of children at the Glendo Fourth of July Parade. I wrote stories about deceased, beloved community members — the hardest ones I would write — and about people sacrificing their lives for the betterment of their neighbors.

And I don’t write this as self-serving banter, but as means to portray the vibrant city that is your Douglas. The strong community that is your home.

There are blights on her countenance, as every city — as an extension of humanity — has, but I see many twinkles in the several thousand Wyomingites gathered here on the high plains together. And the real truth is that you all need each other, for worse and for better.

I’ve also learned there are often two truly valid sides to an argument (regardless of what your news editor proclaims ex cathedra). And the one with more power or prettier words ain’t always right.

In the book “The Survivor Personality,” the author states a truth that is seminal to human survival. I’ve returned to these words throughout the year (especially in the cold, hibernating winter months when I was resisting the aforementioned shriveling urge).

“In most homes and schools, asking questions is not viewed as a skill or talent to be cultivated, not nearly as much as learning answers. This, even though life’s best survivors ask lots of questions — good questions, impudent questions, disruptive questions.

“People who adapt and thrive well are like curious, playful children who never ‘grow up.’ They retain from childhood a curiosity about what exists. . .They enjoy playing with situations, people, and their own experiences.”

These words have guided me these months and could perhaps bring some clarity to your own lives, if not a desire to do something different, if only for experiment’s sake.

Go ahead.

I dare you.

So with these principles in tow, I take my leave from Douglas and Wyoming, in lieu of my Okie homeland. I’m contemplating several options for future employment and hatching plans of the next venture, in the same way as Douglas was magically (and thankfully) born. I’d go into more detail about my future plans, but as we’ve proven, life is about change and you might just end up calling me a liar in the end.

Thank you, Douglas. You’ve been very good to me and taught me much of what I didn’t know, even if it meant I learnt it with a rap on the knuckles. I hope I’ve helped more than I’ve torn down. Survivors are, after all, supposed to ask the ‘disruptive’ questions sometimes, too.

Have a great summer, friends, even if I won’t see you next year.

Sincerely,

-JS

A glint of the 'Treasure'

2009-09-21T20:21:00.012-05:00

As promised (see how faithful I am?), more fotos of that great beyond which has oft captured my imagination but ne'er registered on the senses. I don't know when I would go back, but it wouldn't be for lack of appreciation. Golly.

Behold, the Treasure State! Looks are deceiving though. You're still 450 miles from Canada when driving in from Wyoming. Ol' Mont...she's a behemoth. By comparison, 450 miles is the distance between Boston and Washington, D.C...

No wonder marse William Clark said this about the great Western expanses while pursuing an elk on that famous trek:

“Came Suddenly into an open and bound less Prarie, I Say bound less because I could not See the extent of the plain in any Derection…This prospect was So Sudden & entertaining that I forgot the object of my prosute…”
-July 19, 1804

Beauty, Clark. Bee-you-tee. That's what I say.

Nice place to pull over for a picture, eh? So picturesque and remote.

Or...

The place where your tire goes flat...aka...the middle of nowhere.
Sweet mother. Thank you, Toyota for your full-size spare tires! Would've been up a creek six ways from Sunday without such Asianic brilliance.

“This is truly a desert barren country…”
Meriwether Lewis on the Missouri River Breaks, Chouteau County, Montana, May 26, 1805

No joke, Brother Lewis. But pretty spectacular too.

My two impeccable hosts. Friends of friends you see. Quite nice of them to let me alight in their acquaintance for a time, having never spoken before. So glad I visited.

More Hyalite Reservoir, just south of Bozeman. Perfect pooch placement right there.

Out for a pleasure cruise, in eel infested waters.

Simply delightful.

An amusing kind of bumper sticker.

Hail, L & C. I want to start one called the Sacajawea Motel. Would you come visit?

Montana State University...home of the Bobcats. If you can tell me what conference they're in (without looking it up) you are either from Montana, went to school at MSU, or need some hobbies.

Nice campus though. Soo much cool stuff to do outdoors it's almost sickening.
Hope you like winter though. By thunder! They say there are two seasons there...July...and Winter.

Here's to you, Ol' Mont. If I hadn't been taking this picture I would've given you two up. Way up.

The End.

Montana Drifting

2009-09-17T23:43:00.003-05:00

My recentish Western wanderings took me on a solo trip to the vast expanses of the Treasure State. That is, the legendary Montana. My hosts were superb where I crash landed near Bozeman during a quick-fire, 36-hour, 1,000-mile tour. Certainly one can't go so far as Wyoming and not venture all the way into her northern neighbor, right? That's what I thought anyway. And I'm so very glad I went.

More pics forthcoming, but for now enjoy a view of Hyalite Reservoir in the Gallatin National Forest near Bozeman. Doesn't that look nice? Well, it really is, friends. Let me tell you.

Baby Love

2009-09-17T00:13:00.002-05:00

One of the more poignant highlights of my return OK-side has been meeting my newest niece, Genevieve. I got this privilege only several weeks ago, shortly after my reentry to the Sooner Nation. Genevieve (aka "Vivi" or "G"...see also "Lil' G") leads a life of simplistic beauty, with a mainstay trio of activities engrossing her time: eating, poohing, grubbing. Repeat.

They say retirement is bliss, but those AARP roustabouts can keep their golden years. Baby life is the life to have, people. Seriously.

Lil' G, I reckon you're a keeper my dear. Grub long and prosper.

Way to go...Idaho!

2009-09-11T21:19:00.009-05:00

Some more shots from the recent road trip with the rents through CO, WY, ID and UT. I'm reminded once again how flippin massive the West really is in that we drove thousands of miles and only saw five states (I left out Kansas above for obvious reasons). Last summer's road trip to the north east spanned a similar distance and featured 12 different estados.

But I've whittled my been-to state list down significantly for the western US. Only Nevada, Oregon and North Dakota left! To be honest, I'm not certain I'll ever see North Dakota, and I'm really okay with that.

But let us get on with the photo documentation.

Grand Tetons in western Wyo. Still coolest mountains I've ever seen.
No bear sightings, contrary to warning signs.

Grand Teton peak (13,770 ft. - 4,198 m) from Colter Bay.

Pristine drive.

Our tent cabin in Grand Teton Nat'l Park. Cheapo to rent and really a good time. Great family camping action right here. Wood stove included, to combat nightly lows in the 30s at the end of August.

Bear box included!

Ol' Faithful. Slightly overrated but pretty good nonetheless. Maybe Sesame Street has also ruined this like it did my attention span. :(

Ma and Papa Stu at the Lower Falls of Yellowstone River. AMAZING.

Lower Falls panoramic.

Checking out Yellowstone's geyserific features. We learned that the western United States are S.O.L. in the event the whole thing erupts. Not sure how Oklahoma would fare...

Mr. and Mrs. Otter swam up during our kayaking. They were so curious and let us get within several yards. Funny animals, with their huffing and puffing and intelligent stares. Won't see this action on Sesame Street, kids!

Kayak power!

They say eight seconds on a Jackalope is like 80 on a bronc. Papa Stu saddled up this specimen in Dubois, Wyo. The whole state of Wyoming has a curious obsession with the Jackalope. I'm still figuring it out. Never got many solid answers on this one...

On to Idaho! Paragliders in Sun Valley. Pioneer Mts. in distance.

Cousin Miles with his aptly named "Bear."

Merrily we rolled along. Whole valley is laced with bike trails. Thankfully rich people love cycling too!

Idaho wheat harvest.

Good to know.

More ID wheat near Twin Falls.

ID spud farmer.

John Colter has grit

2009-09-01T22:42:00.007-05:00

The rents and I toured western Wyoming and Idaho recently, on my way back Oklahoma-side (nothing like a 3,000 mile detour vacation in the wrong direction).

I can only imagine what trapper/adventureman John Colter thought when he stumbled into what is now Colter Bay in the winter of 1807 and discovered the lake and what would come to be known as the Grand Teton Mountains. Hory Mory. Hands down they are the most impressive as ere I saw.

Can you imagine what it would be like to come upon those beauties for the first time?

"Oh, what'd you do today at work, honey?"
"Oh you know, just discovered the bombest mountain range in the United States."
"Ah...that's nice, dear. Dinner's on the table. Dried venison and hardtack again..."

It's amazing to me that something as impressive as those jagged-toothed peaks were discovered (by the modern world) scant more than 100 years ago. Certainly the West is but a blushing bride.

And a tougher man than I is the one who traverses Wyoming's back country in the dead of winter in the early 1900s. Move over John Wayne. Colter's got the True Grit here.

At any shake, I have a mind to post more pictorial bloggery soon but here's a little snack before supper if you will.

Colter's iconic Bay. Something tells me the high-dollar V-cruiser vessels weren't around in his day, but they're picturesque all the same.

Just your typical Teton family. Ma and Pa Stu posted up for the road-trip revelries. They can't squelch their gypsy roots of old. A sign nearby read "Bear Active in Area."
Still haven't seen one though. Lame...

We saw Yellowstone too (just north of Teton Nat'l Park). Here's a Lower Falls panoramic of about 40 photos. Really magnificent, Mammy. Glad I made my parents hike the half mile down to see it. They were glad too.

More to come...

A Fairy Good Time

2009-08-10T22:18:00.004-05:00

Well friends, as the days grow shorter and the nights a crisp 40-some degrees, there are sure signs this summer is nearly over here on the high plains. Most notably, it's that time again for the Wyoming State Fair, hosted by none other than my lovely metro of Douglas, Wyo!

Amigos J.Vo and J.Al (venerable Sooner Statesmen in their own right) descended on Douglas this past weekend for the fair kickoff, reining in the spectacle as only respectable Okies can. We had not an abismal time, and with only a few groggy mornings to show for our revelries.

It's surprising to think I started at the newspaper at this time last year. WOW. Where has the time gone, my dear chillens? Thus it's with my approximate one-year anniversary that I'll be bidding farewell to the Douglas Budget newspaper and Wyoming within a number of days. My final day is next week.

It's been a mostly good, challenging run on all levels but I know it's time to be looking forward, as a single, minimally tied-down individual is wont to do. But don't worry, you particular Douglasites who made my time here worthwhile, you'll not be forgotten. Pretty sure I would've shriveled into a decrepit sack of worthlessness back in mid-February without you all.

As for where I'm going? It's back to OK for at least a spell. Then it's que sera sera mis amores. But stay tuned. I'll let you know when I get "there"...

Rushmore, the exquisite lake and a big foot sighting for good measure

2009-08-02T23:34:00.005-05:00

Mis amigos y yo packed it up into the family sedan and headed for the hills this weekend. The Black Hills. Of South Dakota. It was my first time in the state (total personal state count at 38 of 50 now) and I have to say the Black Hills did NOT disappoint.

I always envisioned the faces of Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt and Lincoln as being somewhat lackluster, etched on a random mountain ridge in the middle of no-freakin-where, USA. In the end I'll just say GO and SEE them. You can't be a real 'Merican and forgo the towering sculpted busts and learn about the man who sacrificed much of his life to create them.

Our weekend getaway also coincided with the largest motorcycle rally in the United States: Sturgis. So named for the South Dakota city around which it constricts.

This normally wouldn't be an item of note except for the fact that about 500,000(!) bikers attend the rally and swarm the Black Hills/Mt. Rushmore area for one week each year in August. One quickly feels out of place in the absence of riding chaps, leathery skin and overly exposing and distasteful garments (yikes).

It's basically a roving, virile freak show on wheels, and it's pretty awesome to behold.

As means to illustrate the event's prominence, here are some Sturgis fun facts gleaned from a web site:

1. In 1976 the average attendee spent $50.
2. In 2009 the average attendee will spend more than $1,000.
3. 1/3 of western South Dakota's motorcycle accidents connected to the event.
4. The rally features hundreds of thousands of bare, saggy breasts. And that's just the men.
5. Sturgis businesses make 95% of their annual revenue from the rally.
6. South Dakota collects approximately $1,000,000 in sales tax from the event.
7. The town of Sturgis, population 6,000, adds $200,000 of taxes to its coffers.
8. The first rally was in the summer of 1938, and has been in Sturgis every year except during WWII.
9. In 2005 a rider was killed by a flying toilet.
10. A conservative estimate of beer consumed in the two weeks surrounding the event: 3 million gallons

Thus. If you have the means and the time, your photos and experiences won't leave you wanting for raw sensory stimulation. Just remember to suck it down cheap, cold and American.

But let us get on with the photos.

Keystone, SD. Taken from the balcony where we munched pizza for lunch. A symphony of baritone combustion exhaust.

Ahem. Washington, Jefferson, T. Roosevelt and Lincoln.

Take II.

Custer State Park will be one of the prettiest places you'll go in the West. Don't miss Sylvan Lake, dear friends. What an amazing setting, and day hikes/camping galore!

But we all had a fright at the unexpected big foot sighting IN Sylvan Lake. EGAD, MAN! Seems they're quite aquatic beasts, too. Initial reports couldn't confirm the validity of the sighting or if Europeans are simply to blame. England and France could not be reached for comment as of press time.

Technological bliss

2009-07-30T18:09:00.002-05:00

Screen grab from a recent chat with my Singapore-based brethren. Skype is a wonderful thing.

Hoist up the Sloop John B

2009-07-13T22:38:00.002-05:00

Wyoming so owes us. We went sailing Saturday at Glendo Reservoir, about two hours north of Cheyenne. Beautiful place. Amigo Josh popped up from the Rawlins metro to be an integral part of the elite crew. Uncle Bob brought his 70s vessel up from Denver for what we hoped would be a brilliant sail about.

And it HAD been windy EVERY DAY in Wyoming since I got here last summer. So wouldn't you know it that the state would stiff us when we actually NEEDED the wind whilst literally going NOWHERE on the lake with our sails luffing and rudder pitifully amidships. I was hand paddling at one point. Oh, the shame.

Wyoming, why do you hate me? I thought we were on pretty good terms lately. Sure we've had our scraps. I mean I thought you were over my cursing your winter? Seriously. I even played Mahjong with your grandparents like you asked...

Then you pull this windless tomfoolry on Saturday. How am I supposed to take that?

And the very next day you blow so strong again? Sinister.

Should've just dumped me for my best friend and gotten it over with...

Why Wyoming, why...

The crew: Me, Hannah, Josh, Uncle Bob and Aunt Cheryl. We didn't really sail as much as we did float in place, but at least the conversation was worthwhile. Good times, crew, even if the Equality State didn't hold up its end of the bargain. Anybody know a good divorce lawyer?

On the road again

2009-07-13T00:53:00.004-05:00

Several snapshots of Texas v. Wyoming scenery. I realize this is filler blog material, but work with me people...we'll see about a whole-milk blog post after the paper deadline this week.
nobody likes the skim, in any type of situation...

I-25 in Wyoming, cruising south about 50 miles north of Cheyenne. One of the windiest corridors of the US. It's delightfully green for about 10 days of the year, before returning to a dusty brown for the remaining 355 days.

Lo, the much sought after Texas Hill Country, north of Fredericksburg. I could easily live here I decided (though in civilization, not the prairie). Nice people, laid-back lifestyle, lots of cycling. Though my brother says Texas' real contribution to society is, ahem, "high-quality" females...

I would say Texans are similar to Wyomingites in the distinct love for their respective states, though the "Texan Hubris" tends to skirt the cultish/freaky scale at times as we all know. Cool it, Bevo-ites. Wyoming does.

Go Team Astana!

Secret Agent T-bone

2009-07-08T01:09:00.002-05:00

A few teasers leading to a more complete blog post about my army banding experience in Tejas in June. This'll do for now. Whistle whetted?...check.

Brass quintet at Fredericksburg, Texas park. I think we were playing Washington Post march right about then...

Terrorbones (one of the most ruthless and powerful of all the dinosaurs) performing at same venue. The house was literally brought down. Holla. No animals were harmed...

And a chillaxing shot, for good measure. At Sea World, just about to go over the "big hill." Short bus MVPs fo sho.

Roger that, Houston...The stork has landed.

2009-07-03T00:57:00.003-05:00

Sister Dinah had her babe this morn in OKC. Landed a good'n from the looks of it, tipping the scales at 7 lbs. 8 oz. I think she's a keeper, Mammy! She's now my second niece in the lineup. Woot woot! Mom and baby are doing well (I think I'm pretty much obligated to write this phrase. But thankfully it's true). Welcome to the wide world, Genevieve Simone L'Heureux.

First words of wisdom: be nice to your younger siblings...when you have some. Deal? Awesome.

I have a niece

2009-06-23T00:07:00.006-05:00

My dearly beloved, it has been too long. For this I offer my ashes and sackcloth. *single tear* I now realize the plight that is perhaps every blogger's to bear in his own way. That which pits the compelling "real world" against one's virtual existence. Such a nasty conflict it is.

In the past it's been said by a good friend of mine that my blog served as a kind of surrogate girlfriend (thank you, D. Shook) and that the volume of posts was directly proportional to my relationship status. If such erroneous statements are true, then I have obviously been the inattentive bf to my blogosphere these last months. Alas my job now plays the tantalizing mistress. *ghasts* And she's a demanding bird at that.

In any case, I'm on a vacation of sorts these two weeks with the usual summer army banding. Hence I have the time to bring you these riveting updates that you no doubt pine for fortnightly. It's been good to see trees again and walk among hoards of people in one place. So far we've hit several Texas towns on our tour and are lighting up San Antonio currently. Holla.

And it's been great to see my Mid-West based familia. Been a few months. Got some hugs all around, patted the pooches and met the newest family member!

And thus, my new niece, Julianne (below). This little bundle o' J is almost four months old now and can eat bear claws two at a time! She said something about the Boston Marathon next year...

She's a cute'n. I told her to stay away from boys and to consult my brother with all her relationship questions. She said there's this one boy she's texting a lot who she met in the hospital birthing rooms. Riskay...

Papa Stu and his first grand daughter. A lot of pride here.

I got to hold her some as well. Score! She's a breeze. She mostly contemplates how to execute a future hostile takeover of her older brothers' (see below) empire.

Great to see the monkies too. Many bananas are going toward growing these fellers into men in their urban Tulsa jungle.

Brother's fam in its entirety. Yeaaahhh Jonathan!

And a final picture of Chubby Dinah and nephew Joshy. I can finally call my sister chubby and have it mean something! She's heavy with child and due with her first bambino on July 2. She is pretty pumped (as we all are) for the munchkin's arrival. Stay tuned for updates.

Good night, San Antonio!

Wyo's Finest

2009-05-23T02:52:00.002-05:00

Sunset on Laramie Peak (elev. 10,000) near Douglas. Oh Sun, how I've missed thee these past months. Welcome back to the northern hemisphere.

Communal living

2009-05-04T23:15:00.003-05:00

Unearthed these oldies recently to much personal enjoyment. Lo, my old dorm room in Gomer Jones House. Obviously the cool RAs have hammocks in their abodes. That increased pedestrian/vagrant traffic in my room by an impressive margin.

And this was the most vile room I ever chanced upon in my dorm tenure. Since I lived in a building mostly composed of athletes, I'll let you guess what sport this room's slacker of a tenant played.

You guessed it: Wrestling. *shudders*

Backwards scenery and the neighbor's Jane Doe

2009-05-04T00:15:00.003-05:00

Out on county roads somewheres. This is about as green as things get around here, so I'm told. Gettin' warmer, Mammy!

And I caught this damsel red handed the other night as I idled up to my parking spot. A midnight snack, munching on the neighbor's bushes.

Sorry, Jane. I'm on to you. And don't even try to give me the bambi eyes. Your powers are useless on me...

Ode to Spring (and Wolves)

2009-04-22T23:15:00.005-05:00

If you've spent most of your life in a temperate climate, the shock of a more extreme clime can remain one that doesn't quickly fade.

Thus has been this Okie's winter experience on the high, 4,800 ft. elevation plains of Wyoming these past months.

I apologize if these posts grab you as patently dud, but the weather is ALWAYS a topic of conversation in smalltown America, even for the saltiest of Wyo natives.

In other tidings, this week's headlines featured a big news story (broken by the venerable Douglas Budget, of course) about the first incidence of livestock being killed by wolves in the county since the earlier 1900s. The wolves were killed out in the '30s in Wyo but were reintroduced to the state some 400 miles from here in Yellowstone in the mid-90s. The Wolf honchos say there are about 300 wolves in the state now, with about 200 of the howlers living OUTSIDE the Park.

This is a very controversial issue as wolves are generally thought of as bad juju for the livestock livelihood and were killed off for a reason by the ranchers back in Tiggety-Two.

At any rate, I find it personally interesting that most of my adolescent life growing up in Oklahoma was spent in a moderate to strong fear, however irrational, of bears and big-toothed attack creatures. Obviously the Sooner State has none of these beasts, adding to the irrationality of my phobia all the more.

But the coincidence is not lost that now I've purposefully moved to a place where both BEARS and WOLVES reside, albeit in mostly minimal numbers.

I've got whole new volumes of content to bring up in my counseling sessions now, let me tell you. Where to start...

So, my two bits about wolves.

Also, I lied about it never snowing again, or rather the pundits did. We got another six inches last week.

Death and taxes, friends. Still life's only constants, especially in the month of April. Only the fool, I'm learning, builds his house upon the forecasting sands of the Wyoming springtime.

Here's to more snow, Mammy.

Last Friday morning on Fifth Street, headed to work.

My parking spot.

Country Roads

2009-04-16T00:22:00.004-05:00

Jerry Seinfeld once quipped a phrase that I've related to many times since being in Wyoming.

"Where does a park ranger go to 'get away from it all'," he joked.

When you live in the country already, a quick half-mile drive will get you even more definitively out of town. This winter, when the cabin fever demons have struck and the roads have been passable, I did some local sightseeing.

These were taken a few miles outside of Douglas on county roads. Pretty choice scenery, Mammy. Thankfully the ultra-sparse traffic makes in-motion shots even less hazardous.

Thus, Converse County on a crisp April day.

New hoofs for a new season

2009-04-12T23:37:00.005-05:00

Behold the stud, who thinks he's God's gift to female-horse kind.

Cud-chewing peanut gallery.

Stick a fork in her, Betty! Wide load! Any day now till she pops out a bambino.

The moo-moo stink-eye. "You wanna start something, humanoid?"

Equine Narcissus.

Shadow munch.

Behold, the new hooves! Lil' baby colt, just a few days old. Amazing these guys can run around like champs only 20 minutes out-tha' womb. They don't even ask for college money neither.

"Mom, who's that weirdo human with the camera?..."
"Just stay calm, son. Humans are dumb animals. He can't see us if we don't move..."

Trotting lessons.

Douglas Park Cemetery

2009-04-11T00:25:00.004-05:00

The pundits say the winter snows are over. Just have a "feeling" in their bones. Or something. Whatever climatic juju they're smoking, I hope they're right. I'm ready for this season to be over. Holy Moses.

Though I've realized it's not so much the cold that I dislike, but what it does to people. Like the venerable grizzly, folks get a bit cranky and head for their dens about the time snowflake No. 1 falls to the autumn ground. Everybody folds his wings neatly and coops up for the winter. Physically and socially too, from what I gather. I've often felt like the only one even occasionally walking the town streets these winter months. Kind of a bummer when people seemingly pack up shop from fall till spring, and only return to normal life post-thaw. A Van Winkle-esque maneuver, if only in miniature duration.

There's really something different about northern folks and how their winters affect them. The southerners of our country really seem to be less hibernation prone, from my observations. Not that I'd be different over time, necessarily. But still kind of a downer, to the idle observer/pedestrian appreciator.

I've come to the personal conclusion that unless you can regularly take advantage of the cold (skiing, snow shoeing, sledding, etc.), it's not really worth it. The advent of USING the cold instead of just BEARING it is one I like a lot more. Perhaps I'll someday get to test my theory. For now you'll have to trust me...

At any rate, a recent traipse in said wintry biznass left me with some snowified versions of one of my fav Douglas locations. The cemetery. Perhaps this is strange, but I often jog/walk through there (when it's warmer, of course).

Powerfully peaceful place though...

Sand people walk in single file to hide their numbers...

Evergreen sandwich.

Doe(s) a deer...

Mystery marks. Yeti?!

Animal crossing.

Five o'clock shadows.

Bare barked.

Radar-equipped neighbors.

The Urban disconnect

2009-04-04T16:15:00.007-05:00

The observation isn't lost, that upon my moving to Wyoming, I did inherently step into what can only be regarded as a ranching community. While there does exist a fair number of respectable "city folk" in this small outpost, who aren't as inclined to the trade, by and large the dominant tone is one of animal husbandry.

Never before have I heard more conversations centering on, whirling around and peppered with the simple revelries and often hardships of raising animals, usually as means of one's lifestyle.

In short I have to say I like it. Coming from a pet-saturated background myself, the advent of having one if not numerous animals in or around my home growing up was common hat.

My dad used to say that everybody should raise animals of some kind, or be exposed to the process on some level. He said it taught character and responsibility, and lent a person to developing discernment for another's needs, even if that "other" rests of four legs instead of two.

I find I agree with my dad more and more, especially in light of my animal-dense encounters on the high plains of the Equality State.

What strikes me as most beneficial here is people's connection to the natural world. Most of these folks aren't flashy. They work hard on their ranches, they love their families and their animals, and they keep it simple. Not dumb. Just simple. Many are completely self sufficient, growing their own meat and vegetables, making their own cheeses and soaps and truly living off their sage brush lands. I find this very, very nifty.

This lifestyle does much to answer some of life's prevailing questions that are more and more stampeding to the forefront of a global modernized life (i.e. where the heck does my food come from? what the hay is in it? what in tarnations did i have to do to get it?, etc...)

For many Wyomingites their way of life is bound tightly to the thriving of their herds, whether cloven or shod. In recent snow storms (like the one today that has all roads in or out of town closed), there have been a number of calves perish, as is always the case in cow calving season. This type of weather is stressful on the animals and subsequently the ranchers. In chatting with folks around town and church you can tell it wears on them. Even the loss of one infant animal. You can tangibly see nature affecting their everyday lives.

Where do you see such natural connectivity in the urban lifestyle? I'll say it doesn't exist in nearly as potent a draught.

And I will make the statement that I think animals give back nearly equally what they take. Not necessarily in economic or readily quantifiable terms but in quality of life and therapeutic restoration.

I have a rancher friend here (see photos of animals below) who told me horses are "healers." This friend has several bodily ailments and with a honest face told me that if "touched" correctly, equines have the ability to remove pain from the human body. She's worked with horses for 50 years and knows them better than anyone I've ever met. How can you argue with that? I don't understand it, but I'm inclined to believe her...

So, in these musings I'll say I miss my own animals. The "girls" back home in OK (see photos). And I don't think I'm close to selling everything I have and joining the cowpoke ranks, but they make a convincing argument with their lives and their land-based connectivity. Plum diggety.

Abby fetching.

CANONBALLLLL!!!!!

Molly prance.

Pooch's bliss.

Truly a long face.

Sunshine down on me

2009-04-02T23:53:00.005-05:00

March bids farewell.

...and you are what you eat...

el final.

This is the (ranch) life

2009-03-26T20:32:00.004-05:00

Scenes from out of town:

Bandee blue eye.

Coop.

Peck, scuttle, cluck.

Fresh calf.

Colt and Mare.

Doc the donk.

Tumbleweed cache.

Chubby apprehension.

Fulfilling doghood.

Next year's rack.

Untainted scenery.

Pure rapture.

The bait and switch

2009-03-23T18:36:00.003-05:00

Figure A: "Dr. Jekyll"
My front yard on Saturday evening. Delightful. 70s temps, sprouts of green starting to show. Even my landlords' skunk trap (see right) has a kind of serene quality to it.

Figure B: "Mr. Hyde"
The arctic potion bottle was uncorked late Sunday night to reveal a beast of a wintry onslaught by Monday morning. The upside is that 10-15 inches of snow with CAT-5 (seemingly) winds means even the newspaper people get to go home early. And the ever-riveting bi-monthly city council meeting has been canceled for this evening. How will I possibly fill the entertainment void?

hulu.com it is then. and this one. an awesome read.

...Did me some talking to the Sun ("Around Town Series": take I)

2009-03-16T00:38:00.002-05:00

A few snaps on Douglas' Third Street, just outside my office. Sometimes the sun does as it's told...

My favorite store in Douglas. Full of random, sundry, glorious nick-knacks. If you've received a postcard from me, it came from here. Home Bakery shop on the left makes a decent jelly-filled. Also quaint as all get-out.

Douglas Post Office. The P.O. is a central social gathering place in smalltown America. E'erbody's got a P.O. Box cause they live way the heck outta town. It's not uncommon for people to stop and talk to 10 people they know in here, all getting their mail on a sometimes weekly trip "into town." (note: holy smokes! the flag is NEVER that calm, with all the rip-roarin wind 'round here)

Tree branch icicles. Public library on the right. Note the pickups/duallies.

Great sky. More duallies...

Stetson ridin shotgun, just where it should be, except of course when the shotgun is riding shotgun. Also another dually...

Big City Downtown

2009-03-14T17:39:00.002-05:00

From time to time I make it over to Casper, about "fitty" miles west of where I live. It's the nearest "big" city 'round these parts, tipping the scales with a rousing 50,000 people, which ties with Cheyenne for the largest city in the state.

It's not huge, comparatively, but 10 times what I'm used to on a daily basis, so it's a sizable step up in humanity, to be certain. (by comparison, the student body of my iconic Univ. of Oklahoma represents a population some six times larger than where I live. a fun fact to store away for later, perhaps)

This week called me Casper-side for the all-state cheerleading competitions, in which our venerable girls team didst participate and win first place. And there was much rejoicing...

But more importantly, these intermittent big(ger) city ventures allow one to reflect on the finer things in life (which in my book doesn't include cheerleading, sorry).

But it's things like Chinese food, quality brewed coffees, and yes, PEOPLE - pedestrian or otherwise that get one set back on track. I find the remote smalltown outpost bereft of pedestrian activity (esp. in the winter months) to be somewhat draining. As a people watcher of old (as any photographer lends himself to be), a plethora of photo subjects does a body (and photo) good.

Thus friends, a few snaps from Casper, America.

Overlooking the city of Casper. Don't ask Casperites why it's not the state capital, as geography shows it certainly should be. Kind of a touchy subject. Dang those sneaky Cheyennites with their railroads...

A game face for all the marbles.

Howlathon target.

Old Man down, not out

2009-03-12T00:17:00.002-05:00

In like a lamb, out like a lion? It seems likely to be the case here on the frozen Western tundra. Just as Winter's Old Man was about to put his feet up, turn on some March Madness and call his frigid pestering quits, it's as though he still has unfinished wintry biznass. Ah well. The end is in sight. May? Spring thaw? I can make it. Garaged bicycle? I'm sorry, friend. It's not your fault. I promise.

Bring it on, Old Man. And break a hip while you're at it.

I have driven on more dirt/gravel roads in the last seven months than ever before in my life. Some nice scenery though, despite the chilling wind.

Driving in to Douglas from the north. Perdy nice view. Come foliage time those trees will be much more alluring, I'll wager.

In other news I covered my first murder-suicide this week that happened just outside of town (down the pictured dirt road). Pretty weird. Get to call some family members for their comments about the deceased this week. Fun times. No, not really. Don't really get university classes on that sort of thing. All part of the gig, I suppose. A "Top 5" important thing I've learned since being a reporter: the world is a much darker place than you think. Or at least there's a crap load of nastiness on society's underbelly that, unless your job has you dealing with it regularly (courts, cops, police scanner duty, etc), goes largely (blissfully) unnoticed. Try going to a sex offender trial sometime where the 13-yr-old victim speaks about how it ruined her life. Yech. "He was everything to me and he did this. You never really know what people are like on the inside." She said that to her step dad, the bad guy. Wow.

News flash. Our world is pretty messy at times. Even the rural parts.

So, some thoughts on sundry news assignments of late.

(I can't normally use longer sentences, so I use them here, fyi)

Didn't mean for this to end up quite so dark...

Go Sooners! Beat the Cowboys!

~transition~

The end.

At long last, a niece

2009-03-05T20:03:00.006-06:00

Got a text message last night about 12:45 a.m. CST from my brother:

"water broke...about to have this rodeo."

Rodeo indeed. Thankfully the bull riding was relatively short lived, and little Julianne Bell Stuart (my mom's maiden name is Bell) landed about four hours later - my first niece of the lineup (though there's another niece in the gestatial works).

Julianne tipped the scales at 7 pounds with 20 inches to her name. Many a bass fisherman's prize she would've been in, well, fish form. Thankfully she's 100 percent baby. So they say. I've not given her the finger poke of authenticity yet (and sadly won't get to until June probably).

Anyways. Some pics from my bro, sleep deprived as he was.

Hot off the press!

Oldest bro Carson inspecting the newly arrived goods. Now middle child Joshy on the documentation crew. I think this is part of a method parents utilize for their kids when they have younger siblings (to help them cope with new baby). I wouldn't know. I was the youngest (and awesomest, obviously. i had three older sibs to take pictures of me! - but alas, i can't prove this statement).

Congrats, Bro and Sis-in-law!

Best Bike Advert of '08

2009-02-22T21:44:00.001-06:00

don't normally post youtube clips on here but this ad has brought me significant enjoyment since i discovered it last fall. when it's cold outside and the two wheeler is mostly locked away for winter, this is all a bike enthuz has to go off. perhaps it'll make you happy too.

p.s. i want a fixed-gear/straight handlebar bike like the advert dude's. and riding in NYC would be pretty boss, too. sign me up, Betty...

Local wildlife

2009-02-19T00:57:00.005-06:00

As seen from the town park. Lots of panting venison running the streets round these parts. Odds are these chaps (and ladies) have been shot at before. I thought they looked impressive in the snow.

I'll be a Monkey's Uncle

2009-02-18T00:06:00.004-06:00

Playing in an Uncle Sam band

2009-02-16T20:50:00.005-06:00

As I'm about to round the corner on my sixth year in the Army Band, my ventures Wyoming-side have given me new bandee grounds to stomp on, most notably, the 101st Army National Guard Band in Denver.

Mostly it's been a good experience so far with the group. I drive to D-town once monthy, do some tootin' on the ol' T-bone, hob-nob, get some free guvment lunches and head back north to my arctic tundra of a home (it's surprising how much colder Wyoming is than Denver).

These times have been good, as a bonus comes in getting to see my Uncle Bob and Aunt Cheryl, the folks I stay with in the Metro during my stay.

But these times have been bad at points too. A certain rigamarole of an army physical that involved FOUR shots and a lengthy BLOOD draw comes to mind. Needless to say I passed out cold, sure as Staph (which I was probably immunized for - who really knows what's in those army shots?).

But you cling to the good moments. Not the ones where the interstate closes because of snow when you really need to drive to Denver. No, you do your best to forget those.

SO. This past weekend forged a cumulative highlight of my time in the Colorado band. We graced the stage of the historic Paramount Theater in downtown Denver, near the happenin' 16th Street (Lo-Do, what-what).

In the end we played sundry Americana hits (were you expecting something else?) with other tasty tidbits sprinkled in (The Music Man medley, an Artie Shaw clarinet concerto, etc).

The two massive Wurlitzer organs rocked the house with us (literally, you could feel it in the walls) and the 1,800 person crowd (with a silver hue, to be certain) never missed a beat, except when they were falling asleep before intermission. It was Sunday afternoon, after all.

I stood around before and after in the entry way, gripping and grinning amid fellow bandsmen. Always entertaining meeting people, where they're from, why they came, and did you know I stormed the beaches of Normandy in '44! Some good personal histories usually come too, free of charge.

I met a 13-year-old kid, there with his rents. He plays the trombone, like his dad. I swelled a few sizes bigger in my dress blues with admiration, sharing the love of a mutual instrument with the fellow Sliders. Something tangible in shared musical experience. Maybe something we played at the concert will make the kid keep playing for even a few more years. I hope so.

Thus, you're never quite certain of the glints and glimmers that will finagle their way into this life. I'm thankful for moments like Sunday afternoon that sheen a bit more keenly than the others. And I'm thankful for musical experiences like playing with a 50 piece group in a 1929 theater for a packed house in Colorful Colorado's capital.

Music used to be such a cornerstone element of my daily life since I was, well, 13 (the year I joined band). It's good to still have a few coins in my pocket these days, if only a remnant of the former melodious wealth.

That's what keeps me coming back.

Goodnight, Denver!

(photo caption: I'm third from right on the far right. this is us playing Stars and Stripes. perhaps you've heard of it before?)

Farewell, Happy Serven

2009-02-12T22:47:00.004-06:00

Happy, you were a heck of a dog. My stars. You were simple beyond words and yet always made me feel, well, happy. You were perhaps the most consistently benevolent animal I've known. Perhaps we could all take away a life lesson in unbridled and unattributable joy given us by you, a 15-pound ball of black curls that couldn't possibly have seen ANYTHING through those bangs.

May you always have a place at the foot of life's bed. May you also run ever freely beside bicycling humans and not painfully tangle in the leash (oops).

Rest in peace, Happy Pet.

Tribute to Granny

2009-02-10T23:17:00.008-06:00

"Well, I don't feel just really weepy, but maybe that will come in time..."

The words of my granny Lillian Qualls floated across her Bristow, Oklahoma dining room clearly, not betraying the inner turmoil that boiled just below the surface. Or so I thought. Emotive analysis is only so keen when you're a 13-year-old male.

Standing perched with a leg on the chair in a blue night gown, my Gran spoke these words in 1996 to several other family members. With fresh soil over her husband of 13 years, her countenance was stunning considering the circumstances.

Several days previously Harley, the grandpa I knew, had died of a heart attack in their bedroom, essentially.

The loving cacophony of the funeral whirred and chugged.

During the service my uncle Reuben quoted Harley's "that'll be a dollar ninety eight" punch line, made famous through years of practice and always accompanied with a grampy chuckle.

Then it was casket, eulogy, flowers, tears, soil, stone, burial.

And that was all. And then there we were in the house, Granny in the blue night gown.

Lillian Lela Qualls, my mom's mom, died 13 days ago now, passing peacefully in the night with a good book of a friend perched nearby her still frame.

But, in her passing, I wonder if my numerous family members (we're a hoard to be certain) hold quite the same stoic line as she did. Or if we're even capable of that. If we're quite as able to merely utter a few non-weepy sentiments and move on in life, thinking the law of averages will eventually take hold and right what is askew.

I wonder if I can merely do that.

But to her credit my Gran had much practice with this thing called upheaval.

Outlasting the Depression on an Okie farm alongside her seven (or was it eight?) siblings before marrying young and birthing her first — a girl — she had learned much already.

But the War in Europe had other plans, ripping my grandpa Reuben Paul away on a several year tour where he doctored sinister wounds, and miraculously, survived — one of only a handful bearing the red cross to do so in his platoon.

Then two more kids came along to Granny, the last of which is my mother. The Placid Providence is not lost, or the what-ifs un-entertained at what wouldn't have been had my Grandpa's war experience turned out even one bullet trajectory different.

And certainly God's grace kept her afloat during many tempests. Even through the unexpected hospital death of my Grandpa when he was only 41 and my Gran only 39 and with three kids.

She went to work at a time when women largely didn't and blazed a rough swath to make three adolescent ends meet while still having enough in the piggy for her own sanity. I can't imagine these difficulties.

So you see, my Gran was a strong woman. Always trusting in Someone other than herself. Firm, consistent and yet personable, one of the friendliest people I've known probably.

"OH!"

"Well for the land's sake!"

"Well I declare."

These were all favorites. As was the occasional "Now John! you stop jumping on that sofa!"

But a granny scold never cut you very deep, even when you're a young-un.

Granny cooked like I think heaven will taste. And nary a lessened-fat substitute made its way into the pot. Ever. Nothing but full-octane delish in her kitchen. That was her pure culinary Gospel. And that's the way it's supposed to be I think.

And yet her strength is there. A testament of adaptation. A lesson in learning, coping, surviving. Of mistaking and re-routing. Of walking in blindness when there were likely so many reasons for despair.

But the Pity Path never seemed an option for Gran. Though no doubt a proud woman she was, hers was not the way of self-inflicting misery. Not even when Grandpa Harley died some 12 years ago, the nuptial lodestone of her rich old age.

Gran went to God on January 29th. Perhaps she's even perfecting some angelic culinary delights right now, exchanging percentaged ingredients for ones bearing the label "whole" and telling Gabriel to put some elbow grease into those egg whites, why don't you!

But there are memories. Many good ones.

I'll hold on to those months last year when we'd go out for lunch every week. You would always ask me where I wanted to eat like you didn't have an exact place calculated. You were sneaky like that.

I'd say "you decide" casually and immediately you'd give an answer.

"Now John, I think I'd just like a good hamburger." I would just smile and never let on like I knew what friendly slight of hand you'd dealt me. And we had some good lunches together. Lordy, lordy.

So Gran, this isn't so easy you see — bidding farewell. You were a great woman and you lived through some crazy history lessons of life experience. For the land's sake! My life seems like a walk in the Feather Party Park when held aloft beside yours. And yet I probably don't see God in things nearly as much as you. I pray we could have a faith like yours, too.

Gran, we will miss you. I will.

Love,

-John

Icing the Runners

2009-01-27T22:41:00.006-06:00

What is a bit of snowfall without a trip down the hill in the toboggan? Seems as though I live vicariously these days in many things, sledding included. But some pretty choice facial expressions.

I love this one. Raw adolescent rapture.

This bulldog was cracking me up, attacking his owner and running down the hill beside him. Less snotty/congested than many flat-facers and quite nimble.

Super bulldog away! Look at his chubby flanks rippling in stride. Haha.

Though he's not quite so confident ON the sled as beside the sled.

The end result. Not sure if high-speed sledding is in the bloodline.

darn tree, ruined the shot...

In other exciting news, it got significantly above zero today. Woohoo. And there was much rejoicing. Kind of crazy when warming to 20 degrees represents a net temperature gain of 50 degrees. Minus thirty cuts you down deep, to the bones.

Dude, where's my car

2009-01-26T23:59:00.003-06:00

I came out of work, circa 9 p.m. and wondered why my body heat was escaping me like blood from a terminal wound. The dry air heaved densely into my chest, momentarily freezing surrounding tissue on each of its dark descents.

I pondered this respiratory assault keenly, wondering its origin and stern intensity.

Then, I happened upon a lowly thermometer, keeper of mercury's soothsaying and read the numeral utterance:

TWENTY FOUR BELOW ZERO.

Egad. Bloody cold, my chillens.

So, I brushed off the snow from my pious windshield that so faithfully bore the ice scraper onslaught while my mitts neared serious frostbite.

Still getting a grip on this real winter stuff, it seems, Jemima. A whole different ballgame, to be certain.

And I miss my 4Runner. Observation would have it that the White Wolf isn't so keen in 12 inches of snowfall on poorly plowed streets.

Perhaps Mr. Sandman also has a few spirit-warming nightcaps in his bag of dreamy tricks...

Mammy, get my snowshovel...

2009-01-25T23:38:00.005-06:00

The mid-50s delight of yesterweek gave way to zero degree frigid snow massings this weekend. I figure if it's cold it might as well snow, and since I live a block from work and drive a whopping 20 miles per week (depending on traffic), getting around town is mostly a non-issue even with the arctic dump.

Perhaps there will be sledding this week. Plenty of snow-pack, with about two fresh feet. We'll see what the doctor orders in terms of work deadlines. Looks to be a rather hectic week(s) on the horizon. Vacation time is usually dreaded by those not taking it when you work in a three-man newsroom. All hands on deck, Mammy. Just after you get my snow shovel.

Happy winter, people.

Cold, sad poopis, confined to the back while the fam sleds. This has to be agonizing in the dog world.

Is there any hope, lil' Buddy?

So much sadness... (don't worry, i gave him a few pats post-pictures. dusted his head off and got the tail wagging again)

Front door shot.

Down the block.

Suspicious Powder

2009-01-23T00:56:00.003-06:00

Perhaps the news story of the year unfolded Wednesday night in the Jackalope City (that's where I live, and that's an official title). Pretty crazy anymore what kind of frenzy a "threatening note" accompanied with any type of white powder will create.

Hospital lockdown for four hours was the end result here. Standing outside in the cold this whole time amid the sundry cops, homeland security and FBI(!) peeps wasn't as enjoyable as you might think. Funny Uncle Sam doesn't recruit them for their sense of humor. :(

All told it was a pretty big Charlie Foxtrot. But no one got hurt and everyone went home with a story to tell their great grandkids about the suspicious and harmless white powder. The Great Hospital Lockdown of ot-Nine! Almost enough for a palpitation even now.

Go here for the whole story.

BUT. You can't beat shots of hazmat dudes in their moon suits. Thus:

The big suit up. I guess these supermen just change into costume out in the open. Lame.

*Roger that, headquarters. The chicken is heading into the hen house, over*

Post sample retrieval and test. I guess they don't really care about the journalists getting too close to the "contaminated" suits. Typical...

Just outside of town

2009-01-21T00:59:00.002-06:00

Went on a horse feeding run the other week with a co-worker in need of a little ranch-hand assistance (as only a rookie, unsalty city slicker can provide). But throwing the alfalfa cubes to the stallions with the whipping sage-brush wind lightly pealing the open range proved a worthwhile hour away from the office indeed. A jockey of the desk earns no respect around these prairies.

If only I could learn to be content with a little scrub grass and alfalfa cubes. So much simpler would my life be.

Laramie Peak in the distance.

Come and get it!

Oftentimes a true statement.

Pictorial pat on the back

2009-01-18T19:10:00.003-06:00

This weekend the Wyoming Press Association's annual winter convention converged upon the heart of the Cheyenne metropolis.

The convention features some workshops and critique sessions for all things newspaper (writing, photography, arithmetic. hah). But the convention's flamboyant colors shine from almost the beginning, as the gala is essentially a raucous party, with publishers, editors, reporters, photogs, designers and sundry other newsroom lackeys from across the state raising pen and glass in a cheery toast to the year's news gone by.

And toast they did. Certainly the beer flows like wine in this industry, dear friends, as my few drinks (au gratis - courtesy the boss) paled next to the dozens downed by fellow printsmen. A boisterous crowd, these journalists, belied further by a half-dozen convention goers whipping out their six stringers 'round midnight for an apparent traditional hoot nanny in the hotel lobby. American Pie lilted at nearly a dirge, but the booze-injected utterances carried the tune ever onward as deftly as a wide-out Gabriel.

While the overall tone of the several-day hoopla was heavily tempered by the hemorrhaging fire-sale newspaper industry (it's scary out there, people, with Wyoming's largest daily The Casper Star-Tribune laying off a further 15 people only last week), it was cool to put faces and handshakes with bylines of journalists who get their beats on across this vast Cowboy State.

And of course the affair isn't complete without the awards for the previous year's news coverage. There's a bevy of accolades given out from advert design to writing to photography.

So, to close the eventful annual pape fest, I was pretty pumped to come home with a first place award for best feature photo in the large weekly category (more than 2,500 circ.)

Alls in alls a good weekend. Not sure how long Wyoming will entreat my company in the future, whether personally or professionally, but it's pretty jive to pull down a nifty blue ribbon from the Kool Kids tree every so often. Something to tell the grandkids about. And the resume.

Happy journaling, everybody!

Here's the shot that got the award. From the state fair back in August. Taken with my simple point and shoot, actually. Take that, decked out Jackson Hole News & Guide photogs...(bunch of spoiled rich kids. so they say...)

My first attempt of the photo. Interesting lighting but ultimately too shadowy.

And lastly, here's how the pic ran in the paper back in August. Click to make it larger if you fancy. My first front page photo on the job, incidentally. Beginner's luck...

Black as Sin

2009-01-13T23:08:00.003-06:00

Night highway driving in Wyoming is kind of like cruising through the black maw of outer space. Even the temperatures are equal from time to time.

But when you live in a state with a population density of three or fewer people per square mile you'll understandably have plenty of elbow room on the interstates too, where, when manning your combustion-powered starship over the barren expanses, it's not uncommon to go miles without the presence of any fellow vehicular star pilots (I've never used my high beams so much on the interstate before).

And in my somewhat plentiful trips to and fro Denver (a three hour tour, one way) these past months for army banding and sundry other tomfoolry, I've performed the majority of my marauding at night. (If you've received a random evening phone call from me, it's likely I was in the car on one of these excursions)

I'll say my appreciation and understanding of Han Solo's plight is quite keen following my experiences. And while I don't have to worry about tractor beams or Imperial entanglements, I am also without the advent of hyperspace abilities. If only I could blast up to Wyoming from Colorado with a push of the nav computer's shiny "ENGAGE" button. But perhaps that will come in the future.

But to illustrate my traverses through the pitch tracts (where it's possible to completely forget you're still on our planet Earth), I'll throw out a few driving shots for the viewing pleasure.

I-25 cruising, somewhere between Cheyenne and Douglas on your average Sunday night. Not even a highway patrolman on this stretch. Thankfully I haven't hit any wildlife (a somewhat often occurrence around here it seems). A 800 lb. elk hood ornament isn't the kind of excitement I'm going for.

And then we switch the lights off on the interstate for a few second exposure in the ensuing darkness (kids, don't try this at home). Thankfully the moon was a ghostly galleon that night, providing ample illumination.

Also of note, the ol' Camry rolled over 200k on the odo just last week. I was mildly wowed and then offered a quick prayer to ask blessing upon my aging ride to not strand me squarely in no man's land.

Thus, driving in Wyoming, friends. Wyoming ranked seventh in the nation in population growth last year. Supposedly there's 29,000 more homeboys running around these plains, surging the total population to 522,000. Wherever they are I'm not seeing them. I think those census peeps are whack.

I went to Oklahoma for a few days

2009-01-05T22:32:00.002-06:00

Well, I ventured home for a few very quick dias to the Okie motherland, to put some social serum in the bank and bid farewell to some peeps who won't live there come my next visit.

A more in-depth post is in the works, but alas I'm writing for The Man this evening, so I am overtly brief. Here are a few quick home snaps from the Soonerland sojourn.

Happy 2009, e'erbody!

The old Jones House dorm crew. Reunited for the last time until who knows when. The gentleman on the right is heading off to the that blissful Singapore island and the other lovely individuals call the Golden State home these days.

Lo, a Stuart/Ling family photo. The whole Ling clan ventured the short 10k miles to Norman, Oklahoma to watch their beloved asian brother earn his undergraduate honors. My first time to meet Dan-O's sisters. Lovely folk, one and all.

Of course what would a venture home be without a dog walk? Here's Molls scouring the field for something she'll likely never find.

OK sundown.

more later...

Placebo Christmas (?)

2008-12-31T01:29:00.006-06:00

Christmas morn blossomed brightly this year on the eastern Wyoming sage-brush prairie. A Christmas unlike all others for me. For in my wakening, no sounds of fellow brother or kin didst I discern. Only the usual blanched hush of yon simpleton's bachelor pad did register on hammer, anvil and stirrup.

But don't despair friends, for though the day began in singular fashion, the previous night's company was fresh on my wits, only taking priority behind the next social engagement soon to begin.

And thus I spent most of the Twenty-Fifth in the ranks of lovely familial townsfolk. Eating, chatting, even opening a gift they'd gotten me. That's quite awesome, thought I.

And so the day wore on, and the babies' ensuing meltdowns triggered an under-the-tree booty cease-fire. There's always tomorrow.

The sun set on opposing terra and it was over.

I'm not certain if being "away" for Christmas was as looming a banshee as the notion seems in theory. Perhaps it's just a grand placebo effect. A giant, neatly wrapped, tinseled sugar pill.

We may never know.

But regardless I felt the love of a new brethren who, though belonging not of similar bloodline, have welcomed me "home" to their prairie fences and couch-side hitching posts time and time again since my arrival and specifically on Christmas Day.

And that's something to be thankful for.

There's something I've learned in my months in Wyoming: Smalltown America is about relationships. First and foremost. There's not a lot of glitz on the Western way, but it will hold you up in the stiffest of winds it seems.

So, with nearly five months in country, the relational investments are getting some returns in deeper ways, I think. Yes, rootin' tootin to that!

So. 'Nog and cookie yourself, compadres. Here's to new, Wyo mighty mates.

*cheers*

Christmas dinner carne: prime rib from Douglas Grocery's legendary meat department. Dericious!

And then I got some sunset shots, per usual. Looking southwest, over the nearby Laramie Range.

Double time. I-25 runs over the tracks in the distance.

Laramie Peak, elev. 10,274. booyah.

I know, the traffic is pretty bad sometimes. But only during rush hour.

Yule horse.

In other news, I took this stress test recently. Scored like a 340. I guess that means I'll have serious stress-induced physical ailments if it continues. Hmm. Curious. I think I need a vacation or something. Oh, wait. I'm on one. Bonus.

See you all next year.

Happy 25th Berfday to Me

2008-12-22T01:39:00.003-06:00

Used to Could: a quarter century birthmas haiku:

Clunk bunk goes my trunk
Olding joints yawp grievances
Trunk funk no more youth

Dear Mom, Please Send Long Underwear

2008-12-15T00:09:00.003-06:00

Today's high was six below, with signs of it getting even colder tonight. The windchill factor had it at -35 F this morning. Love that Wyoming wind. I want a Hot Toddy...

Here's the weather rolling in on Douglas' main drag. There's my office over there amid the blustering. On Saturday it was 50 degrees at 2 p.m. At 7 p.m. it was below zero.

When it Snows it Showers

2008-12-09T22:12:00.005-06:00

I was starting to think these proud, upstanding Wyomingites were all a bunch of liars. Ever since I crash landed here in my space pod on these Mars-esque rolling hills I have been hearing about the Wyoming winters. It always went like this with people I met:

Me: Yeah, I'm from Oklahoma, blah, blah, blah...

Proud, upstanding Wyomingites (PUWs): OKLAHOMA! Oh boy, are you in for a cold winter, sonny boy! Whew doggie! Rootin' tootin! Sweet fancy Moses! Gordon Bennett! (blah, blah, blah)

So. With such a delightful fall that came to roost here in eastern Wyoming, I accepted their climate forebodings in stride and only internally slandered them equivocators.

Then, as they say, the bottom dropped out last week. The cow troughs froze over, bears found their seasonal holes (woohoo!) and I started to see a very different vision of this remote outpost land. That vision came in long-underwear and wintry mix form, as last week posted a low of negative 3 degrees F. Cold as bollocks, one could argue.

So, amigos, it seems the cold is here to stay. Pass the milk and cookies, I guess. 'Nog? Plumb diggety! Packing on the Winter 15 is the way people roll around here, so I hear...

Some pics around my block from last week:

The back alley of my pad. Note the white wolf, nestled keenly immediately by my front door basically. My place is about 300-400 sq. feet and quite nice I have to say. Beauty, Clark...

My hood is all about the alleyways. Looking down my block to the south.

My landlords live here, immediately in front of me. They're nice folk, and invite me to dinner here and there, bake me bread and let me use their washer/dryer. We haven't talked room service yet, but it's on my long-term to-discuss list.

And there's the crib, folks. Part garage, part bach pad. Straight up. Interestingly, on the right side of the frame you see a hot tub. Also on the to-discuss list with the landlords. "Well, you see, the warm water is really good for my war wound!"

I shot him in the leg

2008-12-07T22:51:00.009-06:00

I startled awake at 06:45, with a pounding heart and adrenaline aplenty. As my alarm ripped me from the REM zone (time for Army band drill), I realized I had been amidst yet another nightmare of sorts.

I am happy to report there were no bears involved, and yet the highlights remain somewhat disturbing (at least at the time):

-I got kidnapped by a very nasty man.

-My hands were tied to a couch and he tried to kill me by smothering my face with a pillow.

-I escaped to the backyard where a handgun standoff commenced.

-Somehow I got the gun and shot the bad hombre two times in the leg with a Glock .40 (i knew i didn't want to kill him) while yelling like Tarzan.

-Suddenly another antagonist showed up and held one of my co-workers hostage at knife point.

-I called 911 on a suddenly appearing house phone. How convenient!

-I raised the gun at the antagonist and yelled bloody murder at him to release my co-worker while pondering my chances of shooting the bad guy in the head w/o harming my amigo.

-I cocked the pistol hammer back menacingly (like they do in the movies).

-Then the alarm went off and I awoke with a sprinting pacemaker. Game over. Seems I'll have to tune in next season for the finale...

So. Somewhat disturbing to the dreamer. If only I could have a gun in my bear dreams! Level the playing field at least. I think I need to stop watching LOST for awhile...

In the end I'm putting a fluffy, unicorn and rainbow filled episode in my Stuflicks Dream Queue next. Something light and enjoyable would be nice. Haven't dreamed one of those in some months.

And I'd rather not have to shoot anyone else, non-lethal wounds included. That's just kind of stressful...

(input? interpretations? suggested shrinks?)

Hot on the Press

2008-12-03T23:06:00.013-06:00

An interesting thing about being in the newspaper biznass is not the grit of a life spent chasing after the ever indubitable story. The story that always seems to be cresting the horizon as you pull into sight of it, and which has you always in a place of flux — never quite arriving or allowing you a proper requite. Though I have to say that part has its own charms, as maddening as chasing the wind becomes at times.

No, no. An interesting part (and one that is perhaps most often overlooked) of writing stories for a news outlet is how it's created, each year, month, week or day, depending on your publication's particulars.

It's the great relative of Gutenberg's epiphany at work, and it brings Frankenstein to life every week here in rural Wyoming.

Behold, the printing press! (cue stirring music)

The Budget goes to press every week here in the Douglas metropolis. (cue laugh track) Usually (depending on the four newsroom slackers) we get it written by about noon on Tuesdays and it's printed by about 7ish in the p.m. It hits the paper drops late Tuesday or early Wednesday for the spellbinding dissemination of Converse County's most cutting edge news. We're the leading paper of the county, might I remind you (read: only paper of the county).

But none of this would be possible without one veritable super man. He dresses in civilian clothing and is more often covered in ink than not. He is Richard the Great, and he's SOLELY responsible for getting the paper printed every week (this is a lot of responsibility, fyi). Here is Ol' Ricardo flashing a toothy edge of competence while printing some high qual action.

When the newsroom gets slow, boring or I run out of nutgraph ideas, I go to the backroom and just watch the press churn. It's a nuts 'n bolts symphony that grooves. I like to just sit and watch it. Puts my head back in order, likely giving my upstairs brain-rat some motivation to turn his wheel faster.

CYAN! Each paper goes through all the CMYK stations. Cyan! Magenta! Yellow! blacK! (here's where you call on Captain Planet). The newsprint rolls through, picking up the according colors and making a pretty paper that Ma and Pa can be proud of. It's a nifty process. I have no idea how it works. I like to think it's just magic. All of it. More interesting that way.

MAGENTA!

YELLOW!

blacK! (cue Cpt. Planet!!!)

note: i guess cmyK sounds better than cmyB? who knows...

Looking down the line. Starts with yellow.

...rollin, rollin, rollin...keep those doggies rollin...

(note: i think we print like 5,000 copies of the paper every week)

And so I leave you with a parting shot of Richard the Great. He's a great guy, obviously. It's always good to just talk sensible things like press mechanics and tools and stuff. Being a reporter can be kind of convoluted. It's hard work pretending like you know what you're talking about all the time...

The end!

A peaky sunset

2008-12-03T00:46:00.002-06:00

If you use your imagination, you can wish away the power lines and telephone wires obstructing Laramie Peak's view. Sometimes there's just no time to get a good vantage point in the photograph of life.

A Thanksgiving Boot in the Rear

2008-11-29T23:46:00.007-06:00

When I was little I had several higher profile vices. Among "little to no concern for others' feelings" and nestled beside "extreme desire for maternal rebellion" was perhaps the most insidious of my sins, though it often hid in the others' shadows.

Boredom.

Sheer and simple.

"Mooooooommmmm," my voice would ring out on any given day of the year. "I'm sooooo boooorrrreeedddd!"

My mother would wince. My siblings grated their teeth.

I had resigned myself from an early age that my life was destined for nothing more than a curling linoleum of experience. That each waking breath, at times, was a waning chronology bringing me unceasingly closer to the grave of existential demise. It was my cross at an early age and I took it up with unparalleled passion at times.

I was the kid with 1,001 hobbies growing up. They came and went. I poured myself into them and dropped them with equal fervor (my parents were saints for supporting all my ventures, btw). My curiosity for the present was matched only with my interest in the future.

This is where my love of road trips comes into play, I think.

So as the hourglass oozes life in 2008, bringing us closer to a new year – and with it my 25th birthday - I realize my youthful vice of old is still with me, a shadow of my soul, clinging close and in real ways impacting my life in the present.

"The boredom is strong with this one," Darth would say.

If I could amputate my soul I would try to cut that out of myself I think. Maybe cast it into an unsuspecting covey of swine. Instead of running off a cliff they would probably bore themselves to death. Maybe that would be less offensive to their owners. Hard to say.

But if I'm honest, a thing that scares me most about the future is the possibility of being bored. Of being uninspired and uncreative. Of being uncontrollably rooted in one unaltering place or way of life. Seriously. More than concerns over future wife, job, living location, etc., though it certainly affects those things. The fear gnaws like a Langolier on steroids, and it gnaws often.

And while I don't think my boredom sentiments are all wrong, there are particulars to repentant for, I think.

Some people wish for uniformity in life. For things to continue according to plan. For familiarity to be permutation's master. And certainly there is much merit in this philosophy. Adventures make one late for dinner, after all.

And part of me so wishes I were like this predominantly. Seemingly finding contentment in every corner and each routine. But it seems I've been dealt a more transient hand.

And in light of the recent holiday, in which we are implored to an action of praise, essentially, I have to conclude that boredom lies in cahoots with discontentment. With discontentment being the anti-thesis of why we gather and eat turkeys. Discontent and boredom plot in a Dark Camp together, scheming plans to internally attack their victims. I'm probably on their Sitting Duck list.

So, friends, how do we overcome the negative aspects of our life-long characteristics, refined through years of nurture? Sweet Georgia B.!

Or how do we deflect the arrows of the Dark Camp that strike deep and seek to insignificize our very existence?

I think it's done like this:

"God. I can't do this. No, seriously. I will likely never be content with this life. No. I will NEVER be content with this life. Please help me to remember that. But please be/do contentment for me. Please change me too. Please! Please? Amen."

And then you go enjoy your third Thanksgiving feast with new friends who purposefully invited you (as did the previous two parties) to partake in the holiday bounty with their family and treat you like one of the team.

And lastly, as thoughts of gravy-strewn delights surge in the visualizers on your way to the gathering, you strike yourself on the face, saying 'I'm a damned fool! (repeat if necessary) for not appreciating the 1,001 distinctives that have evidenced God's love toward my often unthankful, uncaring being!'

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!

(Mine was a much needed kick in the arse)

Oh, Christmas Tree

2008-11-25T00:34:00.003-06:00

I stooped down to inspect the packages laying neatly at my meager door. Excitedly (who doesn't like to get packages?!), I stepped through my door frame, cradling the soon-to-be opened postal booty. One from Oklahoma. One from Fort Worth.

I opened the wrong one first, revealing two Sooner Christmas tree ornaments from Father and Mother. "Oh, that's nice" I thought, but thinking I had no tree from which to let them hang.

Then I opened the big package and it all locked together like a con in shackles. (Good things obviously come in the BIG packages, people)

And now I have a Christmas tree, however small it might be. The Chubby Giant (Sister Laura) and the Tiny Pet (Bro-in-law Sam) gifted it from Texas Christian land.

Boy howdy.

Makes a man's one room apartment quite full of holiday might.

So to all a good night.

Windowside Words of Wisdom

2008-11-23T14:04:00.001-06:00

as seen on a vehicle in Laramie, Wyoming.
starting to sound like Texans, i fear...

Farewell Oklahoma (sort of)

2008-11-20T23:46:00.009-06:00

My tag was two months overdue and I knew it was time. A trip to the county clerk's office and $140 later I walked out with two shiny new plates. I don't know if they were made by felons in a remote prison somewhere, but I like to think so. Just more interesting that way.

I guess this means goodbye to my Sooner state. I don't really know. I still have my Okie license, but no longer is my vehicle tied to the state where the wind comes sweeping down the plains (though admittedly, the wind does A LOT of sweeping here in Wyoming too. good gravy!). So, I guess you could say I'm kind of confused, legally speaking. Who am I?

But I thought it best to commemorate the event. But don't worry, I'll always bleed crimson and cream. I'm down but not out...

Preparing the patient. "Scalpel...I mean screwdriver..."

out with the old.

Off she comes. i had to soothe the Camry. She was getting a little nervous. Kind of an identity crisis of sorts. I calmed her with talk of a premium petrol fill up and a nice oil change. Seemed to work for now.

True sign of a road warrior. Ol' Cam is pushing 200k these days.

going...going...

BLAST OFF! Is it coincidence that the letters "O" and "K" are randomly in my new license plate? Or that I'm currently 24 years old? I think it's a sign, just don't know what it means.

Ol' Cam has never had a front license plate before. This also took some calming and comforting on my part. She's not one to tolerate a lot of changes. And she's already complaining about the cold.

The full picture. This is the hood where I live. Quite nice really. Better when there are leaves I think.

almost...there...

Sca-wing! Provides front bug protection too!

Farewell, Native America...*tear*...

Go Wyo!

Then we celebrated.

Another memento for the wall of family history.

Special thanks to Hannah for the photo documentation. Truly your heroic efforts will not be forgotten on this most historic occasion.

Backseat Faithfuls

2008-11-18T22:43:00.001-06:00

...waiting patiently for master to arrive.