Lots of tubas.

It started during the pandemic and was enhanced by Delta-x and Hurricane Ida.

Memories. They’ve been floating around for days. It was bad enough when time was flexible. Now? Whew.

And. Then.

The anniversary of Warren Zevon’s passing arrived. You know. The guy who sang “Werewolves of London.”

He was so much more than that.

But, for me, his very last song is THE song. It’s called, “Think of me for a little while.”

The song without the video is hard enough to listen to without balling. With the video? There wasn’t a dry eye in this broken down house.

And, speaking of broken down, I am grateful for what little damage this house had. When I think of the upriver communities of Houma and Laplace who were destroyed beyond recognition, I am humbled by our luck.

We are on our way out of here, either for a few months or forever. I’ve been though two 100 storms in 16 years. That’s enough.

Where? A couple of places. I’ll let you know. Until then, enjoy every sandwich.

I thought that as I moved on that I would show you some of the images that approximate my memories.

Unfortunately, pictures can’t come close to what’s in my head. I think that’s the way it alway is. That’s as it should be.

In case you are wondering, I made these pictures all over the place. It’s all part of my life.

I have no idea what’s next and that feels freeing.


Indian.

The stuidity must go on.

Who in their right mind designed these grids? You cannot even do the simplest of designs with the block(head) system. Where I come from pictures don’t float around on white space for no reason. Pictures stay about a pica apart. I know. What’s a pica? It’s a small measuring unit. It comes from when you actually had to print ink on a page.

I’m pretty sure that from now on you’ll see one picture from me a day. It’s not that some subjects don’t need more images. It’s that I’ll be damned if I’m going to throw away everything I learned in school and in the real world to accommodate some new kind of nothing.

At the end of the day, if WordPress can’t give me some relief, this will be the issue that drives me away.

I have a comment from one of you to which I haven’t yet replied. Essentially, he said that the page looks terrible in Reader which may or may not be the way most of you see Storyteller. I rarely use Reader, but I’m an old guy. That said, it comes down to whaddya want from me? I didn’t design this stupidity.

Pictures

Before I discuss them, why oh why does the first letter of a word move to the back of the word when you use a drop cap. Leave the damn thing where it supposed to be. In the front. Pictures is spelled p-i-c-t-u-r-e-s, not i-c-t-u-r-e-s-p.

Whew.

Once again this is a test. It shouldn’t be a test of the design, but rather the pictures. These older pictures have a new life, except that I’m really not sure how the color palette looks on humans.

What do you think?

Stay safe. Stay mighty. Keep your distance (Think motorcycle rally at Sturgis, which has given the U.S. 250,000 new cases of the virus). Enjoy every waffle.


Magic in storm clouds.

We could all use a little more magic right about now.

So.

I photographed storm clouds right before they dumped rain upon us. I added some post production. Well, a lot of post production. Eventually, I made this picture. I can smile at this picture. Maybe you can too.

The weekend.

I mostly stayed away from the news. I worked on the house and in the house. The weather was warm, but dry. Dog walks became longer than they had in awhile. The all seeing dog is feeling much better. Towards the end of her last walk she began to stop for no reason. That’s indicative of pain. It wasn’t as bad as it was a couple of weeks ago.

When we returned home, I gave her half of a pain med. She slept for awhile. I called the dogs to dinner. She got up and was racing around. Obviously, my pain diagnosis was correct.

All good stuff.

Let’s be positive, but wary this week. This is no time to take our feet off the gas. In the swamp, our numbers are getting better. Slightly. That’s a start. I’m glad for that. Since nobody wants a second stronger surge, let’s not turn stupid. I’ve seen enough of that when I run errands, which have become fewer and fewer.

What’s going on in your corner of the world?

Stay safe. Enjoy every sandwich.


Green. The color of spring.

Symbol.

That’s what this picture brings to mind. A symbol. I saw this little weed growing through a gap in the concrete and I knew. I knew that we would keep on hanging on through this dark time. A time of uncertanty and fear. A time of outright greed and corruption.

And, that’s not out on the street. That’s in The White House.

When I heard Jared Kushner say that the national stockpile of medical goods was not the states, but theirs, I knew. He and his fellow administration members want to monetize needed supplies by selling them to the highest private bidder, who will in turn sell them to hospitals. I knew. I knew that we will have to fend for ourselves because this White House will kill us all if we don’t.

So.

It’s time to prepare as best we can. To use all of our resources. To use all of our creativity. To beat this virus. And, them. I no longer want them voted out of office. I wanted them imprisoned. I want them stripped of their ill gotten fortunes. I want them to rot behind bars.

I have been calling this time and place, life during wartime. It really has turned out to be that. This is not a political thing. A red v blue state thing. This is about surviving a dark hour.

Yes.

Many people are pulling together. Doing the right things. Our city and state government leaders are doing just that. Leading. There are governors, including ours, who are doing incredible jobs. Even the mayor, of whom I’m not a big fan, is doing just great.

I read a story in the New York Times about a landlord who owns twenty buildings. In Brooklyn. About 200 to 300 people’s housing. He forgave their April rent, saying that they should take care of each other and keep food on their tables.

It’s at the federal level that the problems begin.

If the Jared Kushners of this world aren’t corrupt than they are merely incompetent boobs. Kushner has never actually succeeded at anything. He blew a hole through the Middle East Peace Process. He bought property that should have never been bought. He ran his father’s business into the ground. The golden spoon in his mouth does not mean anything when he has no talent. No ability.

Angry? Me? Hell yes.

The world is in the toughest fight of our lives. These bastards who claim to be leaders want to pillage us. They want to line their pockets at our expense. They want to revive their now failing businesses with our money.

I’m not sure which is worse. The pandemic or the corruption. You can tell me. Please.

I won’t be around, but I hope in 40 or 50 years that the history books will decribe this era as one of the worst periods in all of modern civilization. I also hope that they will discuss the heros — famous and unknown — who did their level best to help us to survive.

Stay safe. Care for each other. Wash your hands. Keep your distance. Stay indoors. Vote when it’s time. Enjoy all the bacon.


About changes.

A little Friday art.

Pure art. The picture is as I saw it. Very little post production on this one. It’s meant to be soft and gentle. It’s meant to be a break from real life. A little peace. A little quiet.

I could stop right here and wish you happy Friday.

You know me. Lately, that hasn’t been my way. Lately, I have the need to talk, er, write.

This is about joy. Joy from anywhere. I started thinking about this after watching and Amazon show called, “The Grand Tour.” It was created after the original Top Gear team left the BBC. It stars Jeremy Clarkson, James May and Richard Hammond. Last nights show was the final episode, not of the series, but of the entire thing.

History. Clarkson got fired from the BBC for punching a crew member. Over a sandwich, I think. The other two realized that two without one didn’t add up to much, so they asked to be released from their BBC contracts. Clarkson went through some behavior modification counseling and the three of them joined Amazon. The new name reflects what tours of the world used to be in the 1800s. They were called a grand tour and used to last for months.

The original version was Clarkson’s brainchild. Prior to the arrival of Top Gear, car shows were boring. I like cars, but I never watched them. Once I saw Top Gear during its first year I was hooked. Comedy reigned supreme. Things crashed. Things blew up. Things burned. Richard Hammond almost got killed (for real). Only his short height saved him from losing his head.

Last night they said goodbye. Clarkson, who can be a giant knob as Richard May would say, fought back tears during their entire announcement. They played some highlights, some of which were borrowed from the BBC, to the tune of the original ending of Eric Clapton’s “Layla.” For me, that has always been a leaving song, especially the end  piece with Eric Clapton and the late Duane Allman playing intertwined guitars over a piano.

I was in tears.

They’ve done this for 17 years. I’ve seen every episode. Think about that. I’m 65 now. I started with them when I was 48 years old. They’ve made me laugh and laugh some more, even during the dark days immediately following Hurricane Katrina. When I say laugh, I mean laughing out loud, rolling on the floor.

The audience was crying. They talked about their favorite shows.

Then.

Finally, the three of them made another announcement. The talk show, the in studio work and their local race track scenes were ending. The show as we knew it was ending.

But, they love Amazon and Amazon loves them. So, Clarkson claims. Instead of thirteen weeks every year, we were going to see what they do best. Long treks in some foreign country with either junkmobiles or the best of the high-end Lamborghini, Maserati and Porsche cars. Those are the episodes that to me, and I’m pretty sure, most of us liked best. We won’t have to wait a year to see new work. It’ll be released as Amazon continuing series.

My heart jumped. I immediately felt better.

One more thing for you to know.

Anyway.

I borrowed that from them. Since they really drive the cars, catch on fire and get in crashes, they decided how to move on if one of them was killed. They would briefly tell the studio audience what happened and would immediately move on with…

Anyway.


Purple day.

Ah yes. Purple. Purple Furble.

I don’t know why that old joke came back to me. Back in the old folkie days, when songs were heard in a haze, a friend with whom I grew up heard the wrong words to a song and said, “Oh wow. Purple Furple.”

This may be due to “learning.” As I wrote in any earlier post, the koan has opened me up to a lot of things. Including bits of memories of things still to come.

This is all very interesting. We’ll see what becomes of it.

So.

The picture. I made this picture a few weeks ago. I let it sit because it was too similar to others I had just posted. While it sat, I played. I made some extreme experiments. More extreme than this image. When I got all the way out there. I reversed course and headed back. This image is the result.

If you were to ask me what steps I took, you’d have me a disadvantage because I let the picture lead me. I don’t write down what the picture and I did. I save each step. I suppose I could post a whole lot of little pictures if someone insisted. I’d rather not. After all, had you lived back in the 1880s you wouldn’t ask Van Gogh each step to his paintings.

Wait. I’m not comparing myself to Van Gogh. That would be a big stretch on my part. Besides, I have two ears. Still.

That’s it.

Parade season — the real one — not all those downtown walking parades, starts tonight. This continues, with a few breaks, for the next ten or so days when we all end up on the streets for Mardi Gras Day. Wish me luck. Right now, I feel pretty good. My back and hip seem fine, or as fine as they can be.

The dog food is almost cooked for most of those ten days. The dogs are nagging me for a walk. So…


Door graffiti.
Door graffiti.

On the way to someplace else. That’s me.

I actually made this picture while I was standing around. During Mardi Gras. I suppose it’s a Mardi Gras picture. Or not. Even though my job is to make pictures, I only do that about 20% of the time. I spend the other 80% doing stuff. Or, doing nothing. And, just waiting. That’s what I was doing when I saw all this graffiti. Nothing.

Or, everything. Seeing. Well, you know. That’s the most important thing. Right?

As I was reviewing my selects I got an idea. That’s always dangerous. I’m going to experiment with it a little before I show you. I’d like it to be somewhat fully formed before I turn it loose on the world. Even then, it will twist and turn as circumstances arise.

The picture. When I saw the scene I liked the volume of the tagging. There is so much of it in a small space. I also liked the light as it fell on the glass doors. There is a nice juxtaposition lurking there too. A rusty old padlock. Extreme protection, indeed. Making the picture was the easy part. Editing was a little time-consuming since I wanted the picture to look like what I attracted me to it in the first place.


Trumpet reflections.
Trumpet reflections.

Some how. Some way. This post, originally scheduled  for noon my time, was posted into a sub category under the heading of “New Orleans, but where do I go?” That was going to be a more touristy sub site of Storyteller. I’ve never actually developed it. I did nothing different from my usual routine.

If you click on one of the title next to my name, you can read what I originally wrote. I’m not going to do it twice and WordPress won’t let me copy and paste.

Sorry about that.

Light through the bass drum.
Light through the bass drum.

 

 


Mardi Gras Red.

Mardi Gras.

Things are taking shape. The city is getting ready. Decorations are popping up everywhere. 

Normally they are green, gold and purple. 

I have no idea why these are red. Or, why the skulls are featured. But, the whole thing caught my attention. Hopefully it will catch yours.

The picture. Oh, you know.