Chalk and Sweat, Fresh Air and Sharp Stone

Clouds and Climbers

Maggie and Stone

Blood and Shadow

Stef and Edge

Ice and Sunset

Some images born from recent activity. Specifically: bouldering in the Jemez Mountains near Ponderosa, New Mexico.

Fake nails plus gloves equals fake nail gloves

I had never considered this properly before. Maybe you have. What does one do if the weather is frightfully cold, bone cold, and one has applied long fingernails? Why, I'll tell you! Slice holes in the fingertips of beloved gloves!

Click illustration for mo' satisfaction.

I learned this on a city bus, in the early sleepy morning on my way to PDX. I witnessed another passenger prodding her smartphone, with her red fingernails, through black knit gloves. It took me a moment to understand how this worked. Is this glove modification a common practice? Has anyone encountered this before? 

I enjoy the title of this post, made of 4, 5, and 6 letter words. I enjoy making things difficult. For you.

Unpopulatable

Christy's List of Things That Christy Never Learned About Eugene, Oregon:

1. 
   
2. 
   
3. 
   

(And there you have it. Don't expect it to change.)

Special bonus!
List of Words That Eric Had To Aurally Memorize and Verbally Repeat to Administrator of Cognitive Testing Today (As Now Remembered By Eric):

1. Canary
2. Shoes
3. Eagle
4. Blouse 
5. Nails 
6. Pants
7. Crow
8. Bluebird
9. Shirt
10. Chisel
11. Skirt
12. Wrench

Atmosphere, Eugene

Eugene, Oregon. November 2009

I had completely forgotten just how much I love flying. Hanging high above the earth gives us land-based bipeds such a novel perspective on the world (I now appreciate New Mexico at least one and a half times the previous Appreciation Value). David Abram spoke the other night about the omnidirectional capabilities and struggles of birds in flight; great, really great. I feel like slack-lining is a flirtation with a non-two-dimensional travel space.

In Which My Cellphone Redraws A New Physical Reality (above),
and a new view of the Sandias (below). November 2009

Re cognition (01)

(current memory, past event: August 2008)
It is an absolutely gorgeous San Franciscan day in the Mission — late summer sun. One of those days that pries doors open; the light begging, beckoning, growing yellower; the grass puffs up to its fluffiest, and applies alluring green eyeshadow. The humans flock to Dolores Park to bask in the sun and socialize and watch people watching people-watchers — gaze streams around in a giant circle or web. Dance follows suit, music as propellant.

A fellow nears me, where I am sprawled over and under the yellow bicycle that Mikey lent me. I had pedaled my rounds, absorbing what I could of the bay before my impending departure from this place that enchanted me for better than a month. Faltering and lurching, this man sloshes about the crowd before collapsing near my feet, already dirty clothes finding mud beneath lush grass. I close my eyes and felt the sun warming my eyelids. I breathe.

Little time passes before I feel the bike shift underneath my leg. I awake quickly and sit up, regaining an anxiousness that the boozer had tucked me in with. I understand immediately that the rear tire of the bike is in his mouth. Oi, hey! He was chewing on it. What are you doing?! He smiles awkwardly, tho sincere — teeth crooked, or missing.

He responds, I'm tasting where you've been.

These Colours Graced My Life

I turistici (vecchie foto)

Monkey, see.