Monday, February 25, 2008
It was inevitable...
Mister Yuke has discovered You Tube. And if he says, "Yuke Tube" one more time, I will garrote him with his own ukulele strings (perhaps in A - minor - a very sad chord). So, to get him off my back, here is his, as usual, very sensitive take on life and living. He calls it "Front Butt." Presented in exciting slideshow fashion.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
A guy dropped off a WWII Japanese hand grenade yesterday...
The police cordoned off the station.
We had to relocate to the backup station.
But, we were still able to get caught up on some training.
Friday, February 08, 2008
Rest well, oh humble servant...
Some of you who know me know of my affinity for Spokane's shopping carts. I have snapped many a shot of them interfacing with us and our landscape. Are they the modern equivalent of the buffalo? Are they a glimpse into the future of what awaits each of us?
All I know, is that they turn up in the darndest places, in many manifestations - in the river, in people's living rooms, as makeshift bicycle trailers, as ersatz BBQ grills, even as traveling shrines of the impending rapture - you name it.
And then when you see one, a young one like this, so full of promise cast into the icy bank, you can almost hear its crash into the imprisoning snow - a thunderous cry and quaking thud of today's chromed mastodon.
All I know, is that they turn up in the darndest places, in many manifestations - in the river, in people's living rooms, as makeshift bicycle trailers, as ersatz BBQ grills, even as traveling shrines of the impending rapture - you name it.
And then when you see one, a young one like this, so full of promise cast into the icy bank, you can almost hear its crash into the imprisoning snow - a thunderous cry and quaking thud of today's chromed mastodon.
Monday, February 04, 2008
In a rut...
It seems like all I write about anymore are my trips to and from work. But that is not the rut of which I speak.
Yesterday, ON MY WAY TO WORK, I navigated through the vast ice canyons and meandering rivulets that are the streets of Spokane. At one point, I found my tires in a thin ice floored ravine. My pedals were barely clearing the ice bluffs. It was like riding a low rider, I guess. So, that's the rut of which I scribe. Oh yeah, and I am in the other rut too.