It took longer than I expected, but my drawing for the Housing Authority was a pleasure to execute. The illustration technique I used was directly inspired by my favorite masters of pen and wash—Jack Unruh, Ken Dallison, Joe Ciardiello, and Alan E. Cober. Dallison is known for his automobiles and Ciardiello for his portraits, but all of them have worked with great breadth of subject matter. I’ve marveled at their skill for decades, but they have a similarity of approach that is close enough to my own capability that I can relate to how they visualize and have learned from their prolific examples. Unruh is exceptional—equally adept at rendering people, places, and the natural world—and I could die happy if I gain a fraction of his ability. Cober, who, of the four, actually did die (happy I hope, although much too young), holds a special place in my personal history. At the height of our indecision concerning what to do about the crumbling situation at Wright State, Dana and I had the opportunity to question him at a workshop. He counseled us to trust and follow our instincts, so the two of us got out together. He was a great adviser to hundreds of talents over the years, and I’m grateful to have been one of them.
Archive for the ‘Family’ Category
Still drawn to the best of our breed
Monday, February 20th, 2006
Tarnished Silver vs Baby Shark
Sunday, February 19th, 2006James and I were laughing about the excessive hype that has surrounded Bode Miller, the faltering American skier, and got into a good conversation about behind-the-scenes commercialization of various Olympic personality types. When humble, dogged, amateur-style athletes prevail over the high-exposure, corporate-style athletes, marketers don’t think they have as much to work with, so often stick with an Olympic failure if their image investment still solves the demographic equation.
Dale Earnhardt’s attitude that a second-place finisher is just the “first loser” may resonate strongly with most gold-medal contenders, but the world of celebrity endorsement is different, and always will be driven more by overall persona than actual competitive results. That’s why you can expect advertising executives to be much more attracted to a cute snowboarder‘s impulsive screw-up than a veteran skier‘s credo of Olympic longevity—
“Spend a lot time on the hill, spend time training, and then, if you work hard over a long period of time, with a lot of focus, good things will happen to you in the end, and… use your head while you’re having fun.”
Sight Bites / First Batch
Saturday, February 18th, 2006Man with his car in the ditch, waving sadly as he waits for a tow truck.
400 yards of footprints in the fresh snow, to find two brothers at Still-house Spring.
One of Dadbo’s last ‘coon boxes, rotting in a treetop along Sledding Hill Road.
Four tofu burgers frying in a skillet, beside a pot of Mombo’s vegetable soup.
Frank the long-shot candidate, grinning broadly from his campaign card.
The veteran Norwegian biathlete, collapsing to his knees at the finish line.
Chalkboard calculations and a Honchovian decision to define the day’s effort.
An ancient wheelbarrow and a gutted Gravely, rusting in the cluttered barn.
Tiny newborn bunnies, nestled for warmth in a bunting of mother’s fur.
Dana’s cranberry coffee cake, golden brown and fresh from the oven.
Tales of the Graybeard Prospector VIII
Friday, February 17th, 2006• I flipped away the afternoon again at the Rotary Club’s annual Pancake Day, where I foolishly tried to expand my exalted reputation by attempting to make a cake with the shape of a Salvation Army Shield. I blistered the edge of my hand on the hot griddle and experienced the same agony of defeat as poor Lindsey Jacobellis. After that, Dana and I went into the city for the Gallery Hop, so I could participate in the reception at the Carnegie Center for Literacy and Learning. The “Art of the Alphabet” exhibition was a hit with all ages, and the original print of my letter H was the second one to sell. Steve Houston of Texas bought it for his daughter because all of the images present in the montage held significant meaning for him and his family. Quite remarkable.
No, you’re Schmoopie
Tuesday, February 14th, 2006• We started another day together, when it was her turn to bring me a cup of coffee, and before long we were listening to Charles Matkin say, “Change comes over time, with hard work, focus, and repetition.”
• I told her to shun me until I broke the spine of my illustration assignment from the Danville Housing Authority. The only reason these things are ever difficult is because they come so few and far between.
• During my pool workout, as I finished a 200-yard sprint, she was already done with her walk and stopped by to watch me.
• I was over the hump on my ink drawing when she invited me to share her delectable dinner of butternut and Greek lamb chops. We toasted our enduring affection—spare, yet fully formed, like a bonsai.
• We started another year together, when it was time to stuff 2005 into the archives and breathe again. If we can get through something like that, side by side, perhaps we can still tackle our dreams.
• Long ago, they stuck us in a basement office together, so we made the most of it—for a lifetime.
HAPPY VALENTINE’s DAY to my “partner in all things.” I love you, forever…
My first pal
Monday, February 13th, 2006• She might’ve been my first teacher; I might’ve been her first student.
• We took the stage together, faced the crowd together, and danced in the hot lights together. We didn’t get paid, but it was “show-biz” all the same. We were an “act”, and we quit at the top of our game.
• Speaking of games, our first ones didn’t come in boxes, across a wire, nor on a disc. We invented them, and we’ve been “players” ever since.
• Together, we observed the strange world around us, and the language available was insufficient, so we made up our own vocabulary to augment it. We shared it with those who would listen, and it met with their approval. They made their own contributions and helped pass it on to a new generation.
• She blazed a trail of achievement, so I followed it into the peaks of the high country. “I can do this, too,” I thought, so I blazed a trail of experimentation, but my trail descended into the bogs of the low country. During my journey back, she never lost faith in me, nor placed conditions on her love. She always remains the teacher, through her joys and her heartaches, and now I’m only one of those who follow her trail. It’s never been an easy trail, but it’s always been a good one. Blaze on, my lifelong companion. Blaze on.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my “big sis.” I love you, forever…
Tales of the Graybeard Prospector VII
Friday, February 10th, 2006• Opening a statement from the Social Security Administration did not get my day off on the right track, and it began to go downhill from there. Fortunately, I was able to recover a bit by putting some good sales moves on the Republican candidate for Boyle County Judge Executive, who will definitely need a high-credibility graphic image as part of any success campaign to unseat the entrenched incumbent. After that, I attended the opening of “4 Seasons — 4 Directions,” Kathleen’s inspiring collage exhibition at Danville’s Community Arts Center. By evening, Dana and I were in Berea with Lee and David, eating delicious Thai food and learning English Country Dance—so the day ended fully back on its proper rails.
Just the Facts, Ma’am
Tuesday, February 7th, 2006During his dialysis treatment on Saturday, it was discovered that Bruce had a fever, so the doctor decided to admit him back into the hospital for observation and a new course of antibiotics.
His wife did not let his mother know for two days.
Ok, I’ve typed and published it, but I’ll admit to first having reflected on the Four-Way Test of Rotary International—
• Is it the TRUTH?
Yes.
• Is it FAIR to all concerned?
Accuracy does not equal fairness, but there is no intent to be unfair.
• Will it build GOODWILL and BETTER FRIENDSHIPS?
Don’t count on it.
• Will it be BENEFICIAL to all concerned?”
Truthful exposure is not always appropriate, but eventually most facts are made plain, and benefits accrue in the long run to those who accept accountability.
Whether or not I flunked the famous test is subject to individual interpretation. Please read the collection of entries about Bruce for a record of my sincere thoughts and feelings during his lengthy illness.
Until further notice, it might be best for everyone involved if
“Uncle John” suspended continued commentary on this particular subject.
We now return this log to its regularly scheduled wisdom.
Naught but by this expenditure
Monday, February 6th, 2006In Memoirs of a Geisha, the main character reflects on the advice of her mother, who taught that water, with time, can cut through the hardest rock, and, when blocked, will always find another way.
Why is it that everywhere I shift my attention, I’m reminded of the power of persistent, repetitive action? Is the universe using the method itself to make sure the concept gradually penetrates my stubborn personality?
When I look over the past dozen years or so, the most noticeable change I can recognize in myself is the transformation to high physical activity from a sedentary mode. It wasn’t initially inspired by a dream. Rather, it grew out of an apprehensive realization that I undoubtedly carried the same predisposition to heart disease that had claimed my father’s life. Out of weakness came strength—increment by increment, workout by workout, mile by mile.
So, there I have it. Out of my weakness to believe that I could achieve without grinding, habitual effort my dream—a dynamic life on the land, making art from a studio in the Knobs—can come a new practice and ritual which is the only course that will ever take me there. Yes, there will be obstacles and inner resistance. At times, the water will need to find an alternative path, but there is no alternative to the necessity of the “drill.” No other way than through the power of focused routine, and a life of productive habit.
Once again, I must read the words of Emerson and let them sink in—
In chemistry, the galvanic stream, slow, but continuous, is equal in power to the electric spark, and is, in our arts, a better agent. So in human action, against the spasm of energy, we offset the continuity of drill. We spread the same amount of force over much time, instead of condensing it into a moment.
Once more.
And again…
Knobbers unite
Sunday, February 5th, 2006The overdue arrival of winter weather kept our annual Super Bowl Sunday mountain bike ride up in the air until midday. No additional precipitation and a sliver of blue sky tipped the balance, so we gathered in Forkland to face the four-knob challenge. Ben, Brian, and the other hard climbers took off in a fast pack. By contrast, the rest of us set out at a pace that gave us a shot at finishing the day in one piece. With a double layer of socks and running shoes, I wasn’t surprised that my toes still went numb at times, but I wasn’t expecting the wind chill to cut through my neoprene scuba-diving gloves (one of the best gifts Jerome ever gave me). Let’s just say it was brisk out there, but I never really found myself second-guessing the choice to go through with the ride. With great companionship, a stunning vista of remote, snow-clad woods, abundant running creeks and cascades, plus the opportunity to test the value of my recent gym workouts, it was an envigorating, worthwhile afternoon, and proves that cycling can be a rewarding fitness activity in Central Kentucky any time of the year.
Taking the step from knowing to doing
Saturday, February 4th, 2006Twyla Tharp makes clear throughout her invaluable book that creative consistency can only be achieved when the artist pushes beyond talent and desire to infuse work with an ethic of ritual. Not even skill, imagination, research, or planning will compensate for the lack of a daily habit of constructive focus. Emerson calls it “drill.”
Both of them describe a level of disciplined concentration with which I have personal experience, but only for relatively brief spells in my life. I’ve always felt relieved to settle back into a more multi-dimensional frame of mind. I never understood how the focused state could be harnessed as a positive habit pattern because I wasn’t convinced there was any reason to do so. My self-image as a hard worker coexisted with a misplaced desire to indulge my aversion to structured, regimented, predictable behavior. I built an entire lifestyle around it, but, to be frank, I haven’t built much else.
I was talking to my brother James last night and when he asked what was going on with me, I replied without thinking, “You should read my blog.”
I knew it was lame as soon as I said it. His not unkind reply was that he just didn’t have the time. I wasn’t surprised, but I still carried a vague sense of disbelief for the rest of the night until I finished Emerson’s “Power” before bed.
The one prudence in life is concentration; the one evil is dissipation: and it makes no difference whether our dissipations are coarse or fine; property and its cares, friends, and a social habit, or politics, or music, or feasting. Everything is good which takes away one plaything and delusion more, and drives us home to add one stroke of faithful work.
The thinker likens the severe limiting of miscellaneous activity to an orchard-man’s pruning which “forces the sap of the tree into one or two vigorous limbs, instead of suffering it to spindle into a sheaf of twigs.”
It’s not too late for me to take the step from knowing to doing. Typically for me, it’ll be easier said than done. Twyla would stomp her foot and shout, “Begin!”
Now that I’ve convinced everyone to stop reading this blog, I’d better quit. Or perhaps I should revisit my own misgivings from my very first entry over a year ago.
“Enlarge not thy destiny,” said the oracle
Friday, February 3rd, 2006This is one of those moments when I think that I didn’t begin to get a real education until after the age of 50, when I finally settled for me as a teacher.
Me said, “It’s not too late to learn how to think.” I answered, “Ok, Me. Let’s get started.”
Joan was kind enough to make some of Joe Wood’s books available, and there was one I accepted with particular seriousness—“The Conduct of Life,” a collection of essays by Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Perhaps true book-larnin’ doesn’t take place until one can center on an idea or theme after confronting it from multiple directions.
A good start, but there’s little chance a revelation will be internalized until put into actual practice.
Here is something I just read from the essay called “Power”—
When Michel Angelo was forced to paint the Sistine Chapel in fresco, of which art he knew nothing, he went down into the Pope’s gardens behind the Vatican, and with a shovel dug out ochres, red and yellow, mixed them with glue and water with his own hands, and having, after many trials, at last suited himself, climbed his ladders, and painted away, week after week, month after month, the sibyls and prophets. He surpassed his successors in rough vigor, as much as in purity of intellect and refinement. He was not crushed by his one picture left unfinished at last. Michel was wont to draw his figures first in skeleton, then to clothe them with flesh, and lastly to drape them. “Ah!” said a brave painter to me, thinking on these things, “if a man has failed, you will find he has dreamed instead of working. There is no way to success in our art, but to take off your coat, grind paint, and work like a digger on the railroad, all day and every day.”
Various & Sundry, part thirty-two
Wednesday, February 1st, 2006— Month of January workout totals: Swim-5; Bike-2; Run-2; Lift-8; Yoga-13
— Most who know me are aware that I ran—this is where I always have to stop and clarify or say something like “traversed under my own power,” since “ran” is not appropriately descriptive nor entirely accurate—50 miles on my 50th birthday. Later that same year I finished the Chicago Marathon under five hours. That’s my experience with long-distance running. At times I wonder why I didn’t keep it up, but usually I just wonder why I still feel any need at all to stay in running, biking, and swimming condition to be within striking distance of performing a triathlon. Well, it’s important to cross-train, I tell myself, and besides, staying in triathlon shape is not extreme, it’s just what I consider the baseline of physical fitness. I used to think of extreme as my friend who completed over 80 marathon runs, including one in all 50 states and all 7 continents (yes, I know, Antarctica). Or maybe extreme could be defined as competing in “Ironman” triathlons—a 2.4-mile swim, followed by a 112-mile bike ride, and then a 26-mile marathon on top of it, all in one day. And then I heard about the Hardrock Hundred, a 100-mile race that takes place in the mountains of Colorado. Is that extreme or what? Actually there are those who don’t think that’s enough of a challenge, and push the idea of extreme out to the borderlands of madness—the World Championship Quintuple Iron Triathlon. Believe it or not, that’s a distance equivalent to five Ironmans. There’a guy from Louisville who did it. He finished seventh, with a time that set a new U.S. record. A 12-mile swim, 560-mile bike, and 131-mile run. After four days, nine hours, and 40 minutes, he hobbled across the finish line, his body well into the process of cannibalizing his own muscle tissue. Do you think that’s extreme? Now try this—next November there’s a race in Mexico that requires ten Ironmans in ten days, and the Iron Kentuckian is thinking about an attempt. When I heard that I thought about the Athenian warrior Phidippides, who ran what’s considered to be the first marathon in the year 490 BC. He expired. We’ll keep you posted.
— The previous blurb brings to mind a recent article in Money Magazine that one of our clients brought to our attention. Jason Zweig explains in “The Thrill is Wrong” that the new science of “neuroeconomics” is helping investors understand that brain metabolism may cause us to make bad money decisions in much the same way we make bad decisions about food, drink, drugs and sex. Maybe they should add exercise to that list.
— After delivering my finished exhibition print to the Carnegie Center, Dana and I had a nice carnitas dinner in Lexington and then settled down to watch a late screening of Memoirs of a Geisha. I knew I’d enjoy it—actually, much more than Marshall’s “Chicago,” even though it’s garnered less acclaim—as I knew I’d enjoy “The Last Samurai,” because I can easily overlook the flaws in a picture like this. When the production design for a Japan-based story is this awesome, I can never leave the theater disappointed. I must make a note to check out any movie with set decoration by Gretchen Rau. It bothered me that they cast the two female leads with Chinese and Malaysian stars, but I think I was bothered more by the idea of it, going into the theatre, than during the feature. Ziyi Zhang deserved an Oscar nomination. It’s a powerful story, probably a better book, and almost worth the outrageous ticket price. Ken Watanabe is excellent once again, and I always get a kick out of seeing Mako pop up with his trademark scowl, even for less than a minute of screen time.
Walk ahead with strength, my son
Monday, January 30th, 2006Bruce‘s visible energy level was dramatically better today, a relief after several days of obvious discomfort and fatigue. This morning we had a visit from ND, who was kind enough to spend some time telling the account of his own horrible ordeal with pancreatitis, defiance of death, and long recovery. Believe it or not, his personal saga dares to upstage even Bruce’s amazing story, proving the adage that someone else has always experienced something worse—two years in the hospital, with a year of that without food, and over 80 surgical procedures. Even though his wife was a nurse, she couldn’t handle the intensity and walked away after the first two months. His internal organs were kept outside of this body in plastic for days until his abdominal cavity was clean enough to accept them back. His weight dropped from around 225 to under 70 pounds. He had to overcome countless temptations to give up or take his own life.
ND is an incredible man, with a depth of belief that was thoroughly tested. He is enormously blessed and gives full credit to the grace of God, without reservation. Very new people on this earth are alive to tell such a story, and I’m withholding his name to honor his privacy. He doesn’t talk about this on a regular basis and only to those he thinks will be receptive to the meaning of his personal testimony.
Sitting with ND and experiencing Bruce’s reaction has started to work some kind of quiet change in my attitude. Last year, Bruce always told me he’d get well enough to come back to Clan Valley. I have a new level of trust and respect for his ability to make judgments and decisions about his own life and the difficult challenges he’ll continue to face in the months ahead. Dana and Terie are driving him home, and how he chooses to deal with the various dysfunctional situations in his Indianapolis environment is something he’s capable of handling in his own way and in his own time. I believe he’ll do the best he can, and he’ll ask for help or advice if that’s what he decides he needs. Otherwise, he has my love, encouragement, and prayers for his complete recovery.
If you don’t think it can happen, it’s probably because you haven’t met the man who sat in my living room today, who lives each day as a gift from the Almighty, runs his own small business, and is back to benching more weight than I’ve ever dreamed of putting on the bar.
Double Homecoming
Sunday, January 29th, 2006In spite of a lengthy planning meeting at the Clan Hall, our soldier celebrated being at home with his family. During a break in the deliberations, Rita took a group portrait outside, and then the cake was cut. Joan insisted on eating Joshie’s head. The long day ended with Dana taking Bruce to the ER after his visit to the farm. Jerome put in some overtime to help identify symptoms of medication withdrawal that were alleviated. Bruce improved so rapidly that he walked home from the hospital.
My fellow Americans
Friday, January 27th, 2006Seems like more than the usual number of thought-provoking statistics have come to my attention recently, or maybe I’ve just been paying more attention lately when I hear them.
I learned that 40,000 American are now over the age of 100. That’s rather encouraging. I suppose I’ve had that personal target myself for awhile, at least since I first learned about Josie Dixon’s longevity. Uncle Clarence is giving it the old college try. Each generation to follow will have a better shot at it.
More discouraging is the fact that 500,000 American children are now living in foster homes. One in ten children are born to teen mothers and it’s probably significantly higher in Kentucky. One in five children grow up in poverty, but it’s obvious that poverty is defined differently than when I was a kid in the 1950s. We ran barefoot in the summer, wore hand-me-downs, and got only a few new, modestly priced toys each year, and only at Christmas. In elementary school there was the opportunity to buy a popsicle in the afternoon (before or after recess, I don’t recall), and they cost a nickel. I don’t remember ever having one of those popsicles unless a friend shared one with me. I didn’t have the remotest sense of being “poor,” and, looking back on it, I don’t think we were. Today, many “poor” children have video game consoles, cable TV, and stylish clothing. To me, being poor in the 21st century is less about material things. 40% of American boys are being raised without biological dads.
A new poll says that 91% of Americans believe in God and 87% think there’s a heaven. Only 67% believe there’s a devil, but 74% report they believe in hell.
Do I believe in heaven?
I believe in God, and because there is a God, there must exist somewhere in His creation the perfect abode for the soul… the highest state of being in unity with the Creator.
Do I believe in hell?
I believe in God, and because there is a God, there must exist somewhere in His creation a place where justice is meted out to those who commit the greatest evils… a place for those who ordered the trench assaults of World War I, for those who behead noncombatants in front of video cameras, for those who torture children and then, in response to their pleas for mercy, rape them to death.
And I believe there is a devil because of the previous sentence.
Hur! Hur! Hur-hur-hur
Thursday, January 26th, 2006It certainly looks as if this is shaping up to be a momentous weekend for our extended family, and it’s not just because we’re prepared to make some far-reaching decisions in Council. In addition to Josh’s “welcome back” from Iraq, word just arrived that Dana and Bruce are on their way to Kentucky. Needless to say, each Clansman has looked forward individually to his Blue Bank homecoming for a long time. Who would have ever guessed that both happy events would coincide?
See you at the Valley…
The universe is full of stuff
Tuesday, January 24th, 2006Anyone who actually visits this site is probably quite familiar by now with how I’ve provided numerous updates dealing with Bruce’s ten-month medical ordeal. Anyone who actually visits this site is probably already familiar with some of his private difficulties, of which I’ve never provided details here.
I learned today that some of my recent wording struck a nerve. Most likely it was when I wrote, “the conditions of his personal life are too harsh for me to present…” Even that level of discretion was apparently offensive.
I don’t consider my use of the word “harsh” to be inaccurate, nor is it even slightly exaggerated. Displeasure undoubtedly arose from the mere fact that I said anything at all which might touch on the reality that all is not well.
I would hope that another truthful statement is that the very people who regularly like to know what’s on Uncle John’s mind are the same people who care for Bruce deeply. As far as I’m concerned, anyone else is not welcome at this site, and I urge you to find better uses for your time. The rest of you come here for my candid thoughts and opinions about almost anything, including my family.
Keep coming back. I’ll do my “dangdist” to let you know what I really think about, and, to the best of my ability, I’ll avoid unnecessarily ruffling any feathers. If you disagree with me—and I’d expect that most individuals would, from time to time—you can take Brendan up on his offer to host a blog for your viewpoints, too. For good or ill, this is the era of The Blog… Hey, it’s almost like it’s the 21st Century, man!
And if you want to know something else, I learned to blog from the Adkins brothers, and they’re not known for pulling a punch (especially Ian)—when they punch, that is—which isn’t very often, because they’re nice guys, but they do know how to punch, because they used to do martial arts and stuff and kicked hind end in video games and watched a lot of movies where guys get punched and kicked a lot, and sometimes you can see the blood and it doesn’t look fake and the ruffled feathers are sorta pink and bloody and sticky, and if it wasn’t a movie it would smell like a Kentucky cock-fighting pit, if you know what I mean…
I love you, Bruce.
That’s why, when I look back over my year of log entries, your amazing story is…
• • • the top highlight of 2005 • • •
Various & Sundry, part thirty-one
Saturday, January 21st, 2006— When I got up at 6:30 to check the weather, the wind with light rain was enough deterrent for me to call off my scheduled run. I guess I have to admit I’m not as hard-core as I used to be. Dana and I did yoga instead, with the Charles and Lisa tape, waiting for live TV coverage showing the return of the Kentucky National Guard’s 623rd. Josh and his unit had some initial delays in getting out of Iraq, since they had to fill up a plane first, but he’s been back in the States for a number of days now, and was supposed to fly into Louisville this morning. When he touches down and is greeted by family, it will mark the end of his perilous overseas deployment. Welcome back, Josh!
— Last night Hayley’s team met its match with some athletic, high-pressure ball players from Lincoln County High. Our Belle displayed some skilled moments, but most of her minutes showed a hesitancy that comes from inexperience with competition at this level of intensity. She faced a energetic, senior-dominated squad. I think she also defers too often on the floor to older teammates, rather than place more confidence in her own leadership, which she’s more inclined to do when she’s not nervous, and then she shoots more, finishes her powerful drives to the basket, or finds an open player. When she performs that way she usually has a high-scoring game. The consistency is sure to come, but she needs to find a way to bear down and trust her own abilities. I wish she had a better coach, and some day she will. She has a lot of basketball ahead of her. It will be a joy to watch.
— I made more progress today on remodelling the small kitchen off our upstairs conference room. It’s hard to explain why it’s been so neglected over the years, but this is the year to complete the project. It’s proven in many ways to be the log jam that impedes the last phase of physical organization that has to take place for us to have the kind of studio space we always intended for the Town House. I also wrote an email to the chairman of the Library expansion committee describing our desire to recycle some materials from the demolition of the church to take place across the street this summer. We’d like to take stone, brick, or both, and create a rubble-style paved driveway. I think there’s a good chance the project will get a green light, but it’ll take some “Clan-Power” for me to pull off my end of the deal.
Too gnarled a realm for this cautious blogger
Friday, January 20th, 2006I have a desire to do another detailed Bruce Update, since his medical situation continues to improve, but the conditions of his personal life are too harsh for me to present in this format, at least for now. Perhaps in time I’ll write something for the permanent record, but, for those of you who read this log and care about Bruce, if you want to know the specifics of what’s going on, please contact me or Dana directly. I encourage you to do so, and then to communicate your best regards to him.
There’s no people like show people
Wednesday, January 18th, 2006Tonight Dana had her book club, so I took the tickets Jeanne gave me and went to see the Harlem Gospel Choir at Norton Centre with my friend Danny D. The people on stage were very accomplished professionals, but the performance was too loud, too packaged, too “Show-Biz” for me. I get extremely discerning when it comes to worship-based music, but I can’t help it.
Obscure celebrities of Nordic history
Saturday, January 14th, 2006Ian’s face-recognition blog entry is hilarious. I had to try it, too. So I uploaded a recent picture of me that Dana likes.
Who the hell is Christian IX of Denmark?
Sulking, I looked through a few more pictures, and—you guessed it—I selected a picture of my notorious alter ego, Headley Lice.
No picture of Admiral Lice would return a result at the MyHeritage.com site. Very curious. The fear of this pirate’s dreaded wrath extends deeper than I ever presumed.
And so I used my old Muscle Club shot.
—Theodore Roosevelt— YES!
Then I took the big plunge. Uploading a photo of Dana in high school, I sought scientific proof that ever since the night I first watched El Cid, I had spent my youth trying to lure Sophia Loren into the pillows.
—Isabelle Adjani— Hmm, not bad…
Who the hell is Sophia Loren?