I have been watching the BBC series Planet Earth recently, and it is quite stunning. There is so much good that could be said about it, so much praise I could offer, that I will refrain from writing a whole paragraph and simply say: if you haven't watched it, you should.


I just can't get over the parasitic fungi in the rainforest episode...reminds me of Nausicaa in the poisoned forest...

This is perhaps the most beautiful blend of art and bicycle I have seen yet...absolutely lovely.



More pictures of it here under 'bicycles'.

Many many months have passed since I pursued, with any real gusto, the urges to write, and even, for the most part, the desire to draw. Creative outlets in general have taken a back seat, after coming right up to the point of (almost) actually self-publishing and selling artwork. Visions float through my head of never being anywhere without a good pencil and a battered leather-bound book of empty pages to fill with scribble; but the truth is, I DO carry around a handful of paper and graphite utensils (albeit, in somewhat less romantic form than described above) most places I go, and guess what? That's right, mostly blank. So what is wrong? I know what I want to write about, I can clearly envision the drawings I wish to scratch out. Am I creatively lazy? Maybe. But I think it has a lot to do with being distracted by things that simply cannot be ignored: wife, baby, two jobs, ailing car, etc. It is always easier to accomplish a tedious task or scramble to meet a goal not set by yourself than it is to sit down quietly by the window and pour something rough and mysterious out of your soul and onto blank paper---that smooth expanse, so empty and white and intimidating---but there is also an element of satisfaction and contentment in my life that dissipates so many of the emotions and tragedies that would otherwise overpower my melancholic personality and demand to be recorded. It's sort of like what Rilke says in Letters to a Young Poet, about how the artist or writer who wishes to be great must be sure to be lonely, isolated, acutely aware of tragedy and pain and sadness in life. I think there is a lot of truth in that sentiment, and now that I have a family, all that misery and longing that was so delicious and debilitating when I was single is pretty well abated. Not that I don't still, at times, steep myself in a pretty sadness or savor the idea of a tearful and passionate tragedy; it is merely that there isn't a lot of time for that sort of behavior anymore, and more to point, there is a lot less occasion and cause for it. All that being said, I intend to cling to my romantic notions and to hold dear the memories of my searching sleepless drama from times past, and as life unwinds, perhaps there will be an appropriate time and place for the sort of creativeness I crave...I hope it is soon.

What a week.

Old phone died, brand new replacement phone would not hold a charge for some reason. Transmission is going in the 145, which, being our daily driver presents the nasty reality that we do currently have a reliable source of transportation. AC is sick. Super-sick. And of course, her illness flared up only hours after I left for New Orleans to be gone for four days. Had to be in Louisiana for a wedding, which cost a lot more than anticipated, though I'm not going to say I regret going; it was pretty awesome overall, except for knowledge that my wife was miserable back at home. These things will sort themselves out to be sure, but for the moment, I am allowing myself a brief grumble. On a positive note, the weather has finally turned from frustrating and nearly unbearable heat to a hint of real Fall crispness, and that is aspirin for my tired soul.

What did I think of New Orleans? Well, the French Quarter was very enjoyable and interesting by day---but after a night on Bourbon St. for a bachelor party (not my idea), I found myself thinking: there are a lot of ways to find one's self on a fast track to the Abyss, and this has got to be one of the more effective ones. In a word, I was disgusted with what I saw. I did however encounter some cool fixed gear bikes, but being a slow and clumsy photographer I missed the girl riding a hot converted mixte up and down the cobble-stones. The bright blue one with the riser bars beside the fifty-story office building made me smile at the thought of a young professional confounding his bosses when he pedals up in the morning in his tie and clipless shoes, grinning and sweaty. Too bad I didn't get a shot of that one either. Overall, I would like to return to New Orleans someday, but I wasn't impressed as much as I had expected to be. Apologies to anyone who finds my review narrow or offensive...I guess I must be a little too Yankee.