guadalajara has lots of public art and fountains.
these horses are one of my favorite pieces.
my apologies for the noisy background.
(^play me)
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Imagine 4 college girls in a Ford Fiesta, escaping a midwestern March.
Destination: Key West. A Jimmy Buffet cassette loops over and over.
Packing list: flip flops, bathing suit, dress. Check. Battery operated blender and tequila. Check and double check.
No one has money. Meals are bar snacks and the charity of frat boys. Everything that can be charged to Daddy’s gas card, is. We sleep on the beach while we tan.
Tami goes missing She reappears at dawn, with a new tattoo, a boys address crumpled in her hand.
Parrots cackle as we head north, nursing well earned hangovers.
written while on holiday in mexico… theres no soundfile for this one, unless you go to the archived podcast. check the link on the left.
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The Clown: A fuschia ‘72 Volkswagen, fueled on 95% personality, 5% luck. Push starts were the norm, and there was always room in the back for more kids and dogs. The Clown had the last laugh, leaving me stranded in Atlanta.
The Ninja: A 280Z in stealth black, with red interior. I was fast, but the Ninja was faster. We would race serpentine mountain roads. It took them 4 hours to free me, the night she tried out Kung Fu moves on the switchbacks.
And now I have Mom. My handicap converted Caravan chaperone… At least I still drive, right?
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- nayarit
a few pictures from mexico. the palms are from poolside at my hotel, in nuevo vallarta, jalisco. this was the first night in mexico, and a welcome change from the snow and cold of alaska.
the golden iguana was at the pier in puerto vallarta, showing off his colors.
the final image is the results of 4 hours of fishing with eduardo and francisco. the esmerelda is moored at las peines (the combs), the public docks. no, i have no clue what sorts of fish, other than the smaller ones might be bonito.
this one is playing off one of laurence simon’s stories, from weekly challenge 129… go to the archives at http://podcasting.isfullofcrap.com/2008/10/ to hear his story (it will be the last one in the group podcast), then come back here…
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It was late, but Isabela had made it to the church.
In a panic, she pounded on the door.
Soccoro, padre, please help, the federales are after me…
How could he not let her in?
You will have to stay here in the church…
Please, sleep quickly; do not open your eyes until I come for you in the morning.
Brother Theodore was bound by church law to provide asylum, but he was not sure that a night here was better than facing the federales
Slowly he walked down the center aisle, preparing to snuff the candles for the night.
from the archives:
jasonsmission_az (<play me)
“Here you go,” says Jason, holding out the glass amphora to his cousin, King AEetes. A metallic pinging emanates from the jar.
The arrogant youth prates on, “I’m ready to take over the throne, like you agreed to…”
“What are you babbling on about?” Asks the king.
“You said, if I brought back the golden fleas, I’d get my throne back. You never thought I would go all the way to the gates of Hades and pluck them from Cerberus. Man, does he have stinky dog breath….”
“You Greek goof, clean your ears. You’re to bring me the GOLDEN FLEECE!”
i LOVE the motion in this image. makes things feel fast…. i am the dutiful daughter and make cakes for birthdays… mmm sachertorte… the great thing about a dry cake like sachertorte, is that you can come home 2 weeks later, and the cake is still as good as the day after you baked it. plop on some whipped cream, and you are good to go.
one oldie, and then i am thru…
swanvale (<play me)
No word from the cattle station in days; Although it’s remote, there’s usually radio chatter…
So I’m going to have me a look.
Jeez – will you look at this?
They’ve all gone and copped it. There’s no whole pieces left anywhere. Just a jumble of body parts, hooves and bones. I can’t tell cow from cowboy…
At the feed bunk, I sift my fingers through the remaining grains.
Bloody Cheap Owner, supplying tainted feed. Ergot’s an ugly character.
First ruining the farmers’ crop, then driving the cattle that eats it raving mad.
This cereal killer is truly a serial killer.
hi folks, i am going to be out of pocket for a few weeks, as if you would even notice…
here is a little longer story that i did for jeffrey hite’s writing podcast GreatHites; this is my first attempt at a story that is longer than 100 words… i hope you like it. check out what jeff is doing, and feel free to participate: http://GreatHites.blogspot.com
when i return, i hope to share some lovely pictures of foreign lands…
JERRY
Jerry knew what was what in the world.
Sure, he had wanted to go to college, but his grades weren’t so good in high school, so he thought he’d work for a few years. Uncle Joe got him a job as a laborer on construction sites, but Jerry knew he could do better than that. Paying attention, he made sure he was in the right spot when the carpenter’s helper showed up drunk, and then he started making real money. Everything was going as planned until Mary got pregnant, and school was put on permanent hold.
The years rolled by…
Jerry was known for running a tight crew and keeping his work zone clean; it was a “Tidy Friday” that he came across a neon green tape measure. He picked it up and placed it in the roll-around toolbox. Funny, he couldn’t remember who it belonged to, but the guy who lost it would have a better chance of finding it in there.
And there the tape sat for months.
The building exterior was finished as the trees dropped their last leaves. There had been the usual layoffs, but Jerry had been able score the gravy job of interior rough stud walls, and could keep a few of his A-team together, at least for the next few months. And, Jerry wasn’t running the dry wall crew. Galvanized steel beat gypsum any day, hands down. Good thing too, because he was on a regular diet of Ibuprofen and cigarettes. Much more heavy lifting and he’d be done for. It wasn’t rocket science, but if he didn’t pay attention to being plumb and square, all the other trades, the sheetrockers, the electricians, the plumbers, the painters, would drag his name through the dirt. Reaching down for his tape, Jer accidentally flipped it off his tool belt, and watched it plummet through an unfinished HVAC penetration to the floor below.
He sent his apprentice after it, but the hard impact damaged the spring, and now it would not recoil.
“Dammit, not what I need today; the sparkys will be here to pull the electrical tomorrow, and we got to get these walls done. Is that goofy green tape still in the job box? Go get it, and while you’re there, grab me a few Tums.”
Jerry and his apprentice started to lay out the new walls, and everything was normal ‘til just before break. The apprentice pulled the tape, walking to the projected corner. Jerry watched the numbers, then called out –“Ho…” Double checking the tape, though, he didn’t see numbers, instead, there was a message: Your girls will marry well.
“What the… “
Jerry blinked, refocusing his eyes; he wouldn’t let his apprentice see his confusion. That’s what he thought – “Yea, mark it 16’4”. There was minor twinge in his left arm, but he ignored it. “Come on, let’s eat.” he said, mostly to cover for the strange feeling he was starting to have. He hadn’t really seen that, had he?
“You alright, Jer? You don’t look so good…”
“I’ll be ok after break”
30 minutes raced by. Jerry still felt odd, but the walls weren’t going to build themselves, He sent his apprentice out again. And again there was a note: Mary will be ok. Every dimension, there was another reassuring fragment.
The house is paid for.
The girls will go to college.
Your investments are sound.
But his anxiety continued to mount, and he was starting to sweat.
One last wall and they’d be done. Jerry dreaded looking down.
You did a good job. You measured up.
Jerry jerked the taped as he collapsed.
Now the green tape too, was broken, and wouldn’t recoil.
(^play me)
Is that a Terran artifact?
Yes, an ancient torture book I think…
This Fannie Farmer was a cruel Enforcer…
No mercy for dissidents… listen…
Beat the whites until frothy…
Quarter the chicken, cutting along the backbone…
Grill over low flame, until skin is crisp…
Or this…
Take the fruits, put them in the blender, pulse until smooth…
Can you imagine the mess?
If that’s the treatment for proclivities, I wonder what Farmer did to anarchists?
Life is more civilized now…
If there is weakness in the gene pool, it’s eliminated before emergence from the test tube.
Homogeny equals peace, brother.