Cannary

I had no idea that photographs of Calamity Jane (Martha Jane Cannary Burke) were readily available on the internet. She wasn't much of a looker:

But apparently worked to support her five younger brothers and sisters as a dance hall girl - and as a hooker!! The wikipedia article on her mentions it completely out of the blue. What?!

She also claimed that Wild Bill Hickok was the father of her child - Jane - though no one seemed to have believed her. Jane Jr. was put up for adoption. As was the other Jane Jr., born fourteen years later. So...she had two daughters, named them both after herself, and gave them both away.

When she died, she was buried next to Wild Bill, apparently because four of his friends planned her funeral and thought it would be hilarious to stick him with her for all eternity. He apparently couldn't stand her in real life.

Immersion Foot

I've just been reading, for no clear reason, the Handbook of First Aid Treatment for Survivors of Disasters at Sea issued in 1943 by the US Navy. Fascinating stuff.

I found it because I had just been fantasizing about what I would do if a passel of starving children were dropped at my doorstep, and realized that I didn't know how to treat starvation. Looks like you want to give them sugary liquids, vitamins, and broth the first day, add gruel the next, and proper meals the day after that. Luckily I already have the necessary supplies, so if those children show up, I'll be ready.

Less relevant to my life is the treatment of 'immersion foot', but I still have committed it to memory just in case. Keep legs raised, don't allow the patient to walk, cool the legs and feet without getting them wet, keep the rest of the body warm.

Carucci

I'd like to direct you to the website of Elinor Carucci, a woman I once studied photography with:

At the time, she had recently finished 'Closer' (the body of work linked to above). I found it (and her) so entrancing. The work is quiet, intimate, and mysterious. You feel as if you live in her dark house full of dark haired family. 'Diary of a Dancer' I thought disappointing - too conceptual and messy where the previous work was concise. Her new stuff, though, looks very good to me, a natural extension of her best.

My favorite is the picture of her body after the c section. Powerful, full. She worked as a belly dancer, which makes this picture somehow more meaningful to me. Giving birth reshapes your body, and that seems more *something* in a woman who depended on having it the way it was.

I had forgotten, but she was actually pregnant with her twins when she was teaching us, and taking a five hour train every week on her commute. The doctor told her she needed to rest more, so she would lie down on the floor of class and hold discussion from there.

Rocket

Can we all start calling arugula 'rocket' again?

We have the teeniest little sprouts of it coming up, and when I eat it, I want to think about spaceships.

Apparently 'rocket' is a bastardization of the French 'roquette'. It can also be called rugola or rucola (which I didn't know).

The Clanders

Sig: So, there is this tiny nation on an oil rig called Sealand.

Me: Cland?

Sig: ?

Me: You know, C-land, Cland? Get it?

Sig: Oh yeah, I guess that is funny.

But the more germane bit of the story is the following - 'Sealand' is a base off the coast of England built during WWII to deter Nazi attack. It consists of two towers that stand on a sand bar and a platform on top. At one point, 150-300 British soldiers were stationed there.

Things went wonky when one of Britains famous 'pirate radio' DJs, Major Paddy Roy Bates, took up residence there in 1967 to broadcast his station. He named the base Sealand and began ejecting intruders to his 'territorial waters' by threatening them with gun shot. A case was brought against him in British court, and was rejected because Sealand lies in international waters where British law doesn't hold. Bates subsequently printed up passports, made a flag, and invented a currency for Sealand.

According to its constitution (written by Bates) Sealand is a constitutional monarchy. He is 'Prince Roy', his wife 'Princess Joan', and their son is the 'Prince Regent'. In 2008 an athlete represented Sealand in the egg throwing world championship and won.

Here is my favorite part, though. There exists a Sealandic Rebel Government, a self styled government in exile led by the self styled prime minister of Sealand. This all began when some fellow named Achenbach stormed the base with helicopters and motorboats in the 70's and took Bates' son hostage. Bates, though, retook the base and kept Achenbach hostage for ransom money. He eventually released Achenbach, who set up the rebel government, which, to this day, claims to be the rightful government of Sealand.

Home sweet Sealand.

Blind Snake

A friend just posted that her boyfriend found a worm-sized blind snake today. I went quickly to the 'tubes' to investigate these 'blind snakes', and look!

Look at this teeny little guy! There are many species of them, some breathtakingly small and perfect. I like animals that look like they're made of plastic. For this reason I've always had a passion for amphibians - mini frogs and salamanders in particular (caecilians are weird). They inspire such a feeling of awe at the seeming impossibility of life. How do these little guys work?

Wegman's Weimaraners

I love that William Wegman has made an entire career out of photographing weimaraners. To me, this is a testament to doing what moves you.

Asafowhata?

I've recently become increasingly obsessed with the flavor and smell of asafoetida (or devil's dung) - a cooking powder derived from a species of Ferula (the same plant that Prometheus used to smuggle fire to humanity).

I have a jar of delicious mango pickle that I often offer to dinner guests with the warning that it's a very acquired taste. The main point of oddity is the asafoetida, which is quite strong in the pickles. It's incredibly hard to describe. Acrid? Sour? Pungent? These are all correct but, of course, don't capture the essence of the thing. I recommend heading right down to your local Indian food store for a smell.

One last note - asafoetida may have some of the same medicinal properties as its now extinct cousin Silphium, which the Greeks and Romans used so extensively that it was said to be 'worth it's weight in denari'. Chief among Silphium's medicinal uses? Contraceptive.

Strange Little Beer Owl

Since moving to the west coast, Sig and I haven't been able to brew beer. (All our equipment is in a basement in Hoboken.) Last week, though, we caved and decided to buy new stuff - our dreams of somehow shipping or driving a bunch of 5 gallon buckets/enormous pots cross country were, we decided, impractical.

We went to a local beer store called O'Sheas where a very helpful, and very manic salesman put a kit together for us. Meanwhile we perused their beer selection. I was immediately drawn to a bottle with a strange, little owl on it, and a mountain, and the words 'Hitachino Nest Beer'. (It's the Celebration Ale.)

I love this owl. It's just totally awesome looking. And the taste list for the Celebration Ale is - coriander, orange peel, nutmeg, cinnamon, and vanilla. Lovely sweetness. Further updates when I actually taste it. Meanwhile, here is our star:

Kitten Personalities

Where do they come from? Why does Catsius Clay want to lay down on any paper you're reading? Why does he love to eat tomatoes (especially large, soft heirlooms)? Or to put his head under the faucet?

Why is Caterine the Great obsessed with my shawl from India? From whence her passion for pastries? (So far cherry scone is her favorite.)

Why does Chairman Meow want to chew off any exposed strings, ropes, or bunches of hair he can (including bathing suit strings, shoe laces, carpet fringe, my post-shower hair, and the kitten's whiskers)? Why is it that every morning around 10 he wanders the house yowling like he's going to die?

Why does Margaret Catcher like to get in the tub with me?

Synchronicity

Each person has a window of time during which events seem simultaneous. This window, incidentally, is not the same for all senses. Click-fusion, or experience of simultaneity in audible clicks, will happen for any two stimuli less than .005 seconds apart (for normal people.) Two flashes of light, on the other hand, will appear simultaneous as far as .03 seconds apart. These windows grow larger with age.

More bizarre still is that our brain will alter our experience of simultaneity to match a visual cue with it's accompanying sound only up to a certain distance, and then, suddenly, the two will seem out of sync.

And, here is the real kicker, the brain unconsciously compensates for imposed time lags on simultaneity between the senses until they are perceptually invisible. In studies where subjects move a computer mouse, but the clicker on the screen moves only after a delay, subjects report that after a short period they stop experiencing a delay between their movement and that of the clicker. When the mouse and clicker are synced up again, these subjects, for a brief while, will have the bizarre experience of seeing the clicker move before their hand does. Obviously it isn't, but they feel as if it is.

Heirloom Seeds

I just bought a ludicrously large cache of seeds from Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds, a company recently profiled in the NY Times for their seed bank and selection of fantastic and strange heirlooms. (Also, it's run by a ridiculously cute young couple.)

Sig and I were thinking of getting some arugula, and maybe a nice kale or two. But the names of the plants and their descriptions were so fantastic that we couldn't stop. We bought Giant of Naples cauliflowers and Black from Tula tomatoes, Crane Melons and Emerald Gems, Alabama Red Okra and Crystal Apple Cucumber (white and the shape of a large egg).

Here is a sample description for the Cherokee Purple Tomato -

80 days. An old Cherokee Indian heirloom, pre-1890 variety; beautiful deep dusky purple-pink color, superb sweet flavor, and very large sized fruit. Try this one for real old-time tomato flavor. My favorite dark tomato!

They should arrive in 4-7 days. We can. not. wait.

Bobkittens

Sig and I just witnessed the late-night stroll of a bobcat and her two kittens!

We were coming back from In-N-Out Burger when he shushed me and pointed ahead at slinking momma going down the path by our apartment. I'd seen her once before and thought, "That is one wild looking cat. Oh, no, that's a bobcat." About five seconds after Sig saw mom, the following string of words issued uncontrollably from my mouth, "Kitten! Kitten, kitten! Look it's a kitten!"

We stalked them around the side of the building, and sure enough along came the cat with not one, but two, kits. The first kitten spotted us and came slinking curiously over. (At which point we retreated, not wanting to incite the ire of a wild 20-pounds of muscle and claw.)

They headed on quietly, mom with somewhere to go, babies rather intent on exploring, wandering, eating grass - occasionally jumping in surprise just like our kitten does.

I love these tenuous threads. I feel like I just brushed another world.

Julia Margaret Cameron

An early female photographer, Ms. Cameron was fond of posing romantic scenes of cherubic children and renaissancian young women.

I've always loved the ephermeral, elegiac quality of her images. In part, this is a direct result of the era she photographed in - silver nitrate on glass etc. But strangely the subjects of her images are perfectly matched to the emotions they evoke now.

And the Blind Can See

Here is a bit of trivia that is blowing my mind...

These things called Tactile Visual Substitution Systems (or TVSSes) were invented (in, like, the 60s) that essentially allow blind users to have visual experiences completely mediated by touch. Here is a quote from Andy Clark's Supersizing the Mind (a thumping good read, by the way, but rather technical) -

"...the earliest such systems were grids of blunt "nails" fitted to the backs of blind subjects and taking input from a head-mounted camera. In response to camera input, specific regions of the grid became active, gently stimulating the skin under the grid. At first, subjects report only a vague tingling sensation. But after wearing the grid while engaged in various kinds of goal-driven activity (walking, eating etc), the reports change dramatically. Subjects stop feeling the tingling on the back and start to report rough, quasi-visual experiences of looming objects and so forth. After awhile, a ball thrown at the head causes instinctive and appropriate ducking." (35)

!!!

!!!

Ugh, the brain is so awesome.

Snails

Growing up in Syracuse, NY we didn't have any land snails. My mother lamented this lack - apparently in the swamps of Michigan where she used to tramp about there were snails aplenty.

Upon moving to Irvine about a year ago, I went through a phase of complete obsession with the snails here. Job-less and directionless, I wandered the empty lots (overgrown with sagebrush and grasses) and stalked through Irvine's many green (brown) spaces looking at the big snails and skittery little lizards.

It's funny how I never notice these phases ending. As a child they were much more compelling - there was a year when I was completely riveted by belly buttons. It ended in a similarly subtle way. I remember thinking, at 8 or so, why don't I ever think about belly buttons anymore?

Anyway, here is a picture of one of these fellows. Sig tells me they're edible. We were planning on catching a bunch and letting them detox on organic lettuce before eating them, but the plan never really went through. (Personally, I think escargot tastes of dirt, though Sig tells me I'm nuts.)

This entry is a bit wandering, no?

Kahlil in the Desert

I recently sent a copy of Kahlil Gibran's 'The Prophet' to one of the dedicated readers of 'So Large Against the Sky' - my dear cousin A. I first read the book on a holy mountain in India, right outside the city of Pushkar. The mountain is actually one of a pair that bookend the city, each with a temple at the top. One temple is dedicated to Brahma's wife, Savriti. The other to Brahma's brief mistress, Gayatri, of whom Savriti did *not* approve.



I'm not sure which mountain it was, actually, but I had gone past the temple to sit on some isolated rocks in Rajastan's lovely, desert-scape. I pulled out 'The Prophet' and slowly, worshipfully read each passage. Each word feels so right.

Here is one sample, from the section on eating and drinking:

And in the autumn, when you gather the grapes of your vineyards for the winepress,
say in your heart,
"I too am a vineyard, and my fruit shall be gathered for the winepress,
And like new wine I shall be kept in eternal vessels."
And in winter, when you draw the wine, let there be in your heart a song for each cup;
And let there be in the song a remembrance for the autumn days, and for the vineyard, and for the winepress.


I too am a vineyard.

A Peck of Pickled Peppers

Tonight I'm going to try and pickle peppers. Our serrano plant has gone nearly as mad as the zucchinis. For the last year or so I've been making good old dill pickles with this amazing recipe. Or something rather like it depending on my current supplies of the various ingredients.

There are certain things that everybody has an opinion about, and that they'll make you feel very wrong for doing differently. For example, raising kittens. I see lots of websites with things like - never, EVER, let the kitten have human food!!! If you let the kitten have ANY human food EVER, it will DIE!!!!!

I read this while watching Cat-erine the Great sneak licks of oil out of my cooling frying pan.

Ugh.

Pickling seems to be the same way. I do it by boiling old jars from grocery store products, stuffing in the veggies, pouring boiling brine over, and tightening the lid. So far, no problems whatsoever. To look at various pickling instructions you'd think you need an industrial kitchen for it. Or else you'd DIE!!!!!

Old Photos

I miss 35 mm so, so much. And yes, I could shoot in film if I wanted, but it's a real pain to get it developed and to print it. The cost is especially prohibitive. Grr.

I think what I love about film cameras are 1 - the click of the shutter 2 - the way pictures look like what I was looking at. No, they don't look *exactly* like what I was looking at, obviously there are constraints (in color reproduction especially), constructions when you print (how dark is it, how white, should I lighten that corner?), but for the most part the chemical process of molecules absorbing reflected protons gets you something very like the picture in your head.

And furthermore, it's easy to understand exactly what is happening at each step of the process (light bounces off object, light hits photo-absorbing film, chemicals slough off the parts of the film where photons were absorbed, light passes through variably dense film and hits photo absorbing paper, chemicals darken paper accordingly). My understanding of a digital camera is something like the following - I own a magic box with an evil demon inside, light goes in and the demon puts a picture out that looks kinda like the light that goes in.

Anyway, the point of all this is that I recently scanned a number of old photos, some in color some in black and white. The quality is terrible, but at least they are, in a way, safe from cats and flooding. Here are a few of my favorites -

Under a banyon tree.
Family in an Adirondack river.
Rain in Harvard Square.
A game of solitaire in a cabin.
Little birds!
Little green things.

Durga vs. Aoife: a battle for the ages

Monotheism is a bit of a shame. I must admit that I have trouble understanding why we were so keen to trade panoplies of badass gods/goddesses/demi-gods/heroes for just one guy (who doesn't have much of a sense of humor.)

Out of all polytheistic, mythological traditions, my two favorite are the Irish and the Indian mythologies. Why? Well, let me elaborate...

1) Tricksters - Both traditions have friendly tricksters. Krishna, for example, is always stealing milk maids' clothes while they're bathing.

2) Geis - In Irish mythology, if one has a 'geis' or taboo placed on them, they must obey it, no matter what. Breaking the geis could lead to grave misfortune. Cuchulainn, for example, wasn't allowed to eat the flesh of a hound...

3) Blue Skin - Hello? It's awesome. Though the blue skin of certain gods is thought to represent dark skin (ie. not aryan).

3) Gods who 'do it' - And Goddesses who enjoy themselves in the process.

4) Warrior Goddesses - Mary and Mary are nice, I guess, but they're both pretty powerless. In the Irish tradition we've got Aoife, warrior princess, and in Hindu tradition Kali, the human skull wearing, bloody mother Goddess. Irish has Morrigan, Goddess of War and Fertility and her aspects Macha and Babh who like to show up as hooded crows, and Hindu has Durga, who rides a tiger, drinks wine, and slays buffalo demons.

Zucchini a go-go

Sig and I have been completely obsessed with our community garden plot. We quite literally moved 6 tons of dirt to replace the clay with decent soil, built enormous sunk-in boxes, planted, tended, and now we're harvesting and processing. A photo record -

The garden a few months ago, all boxes in, not everything sprouted. Please note the tin-headed scarecrow.
Accidental zucchini the size of my thigh.
Fridge full of enormous zucchini.
Kitten with zucchini and pickles.

Zucchini bread. And, below, freezer with 12 quarts of frozen zucchini. As you can see, zucchini has been our main crop thus far, by volume at least.

Slice

Have you ever noticed how self-injuries (like most self-images I suppose) look completely wonky and out of proportion in your memories?

I just slipped while using one of my wedding-gift Wusthof knives, which we keep sinfully sharp, and managed to slice off a little chunk of my thumb and leave a big ugly flap hanging from my index finger. Now, I know by the amount of blood, and by sheer reason, that this is a fairly limited injury, but in my mind my finger is the size of a cucumber and that cut goes half way through it. Why is this?

I suspect this is a similar phenomenon to anorexic girls who draw themselves fat, or the reasons people imagine their pimples to be enormous and redder than they are. The play Copenhagen, which Sig hates but I love, has a brilliant line about how strange it is that the only person you can never see is yourself.

Case of You

I adore the song 'Case of You' by Joni Mitchell. My goodness does that woman have a good voice. It slides up and down, so delicate but deeply strong, giving this hint of something you can't quite detect behind the face of the music and simultaneously showing you all the way in.

I thought, though it's a little silly, that I would just print the lyrics to Case of You in poem form, for general enjoyment...

Just before our love got lost you said

I am as constant as the northern star.

And I said, 'Constant in the darkness.

Where's that at?

If you want me I'll be in the bar.'

On the back of a carton coaster,

In the blue TV screen light,

I drew a map of Canada, Oh Canada,

With your face sketched on it twice.

I am a lonely painter.

I live in a box of paints.

I'm frightened by the devil,

And drawn to those ones that ain't afraid.

I remember the time you told me,

Love is touching souls.

Well, surely you touch mine, 'cause

Part of you pours out of me

In these lines from time to time.

I met a woman.

She had a mouth like yours.

She knew your life.

She knew your devils and your deeds.

And she said, 'Go to him.

Stay with him if you can.

But be prepared to bleed.'

But you're in my blood like holy wine.

You taste so bitter and so sweet.

I could drink a case of you, darling,

And still be on my feet.

I would still be on my feet.

Sigh

I love the smell of kittens, and their furry little bellies. Ah...

Captain EO

Holy Cow! This Thursday I went to Disneyland with Sig and my little sister Holly (of the photo, incidentally). Sig and I are *very* into Disney - we have season passes, and know most of the lyrics to most of the songs in most of the movies - this in spite of the fact that many of our friends/fellow students view our obsession with confusion and perhaps disdain. Whatever man. I can't let their judgement hold back the love.

We saw a 3-D show in Tomorrowland that apparently originally played from 1986-1996 and is now showing as a tribute to Micheal Jackson. The name - Captain EO.

Those of us who remember the 80s, or who have subsequently watched, say, The Dark Crystal or Labyrinth, know that it was a crazy time, a time of weird talking puppets and men who wear sparkle make-up. But seeing talking puppets and men in sparkle make-up in 2010 in full 3-D in the middle of the day at Disneyland was a bit of a shocker.

To give a little background, Captain EO was actually directed by Francis Ford Coppola and produced by George Lucas (!) and at the time it was the most expensive movie made on a per-minute basis, 30 million dollars for ~ 17 minutes of film. You'd think with the credentials and the expense you'd get something not crazy...right?

The film begins with Captain EO and his ragtag muppet crew. They avoid some nasty space scouts and land their ship on a planet covered in robot-machinery. (Meanwhile the face of their commander keeps popping up on a hologram and scolding them, 'CAPtain eO! You ALways FAIL!) Once landed the crew sets off to find the planet's 'Supreme Leader' (!) and deliver a 'gift'. It takes them about 30 seconds, luckily, to be captured by robot-soldiers and end up in the Supreme Leader's robot-y lair. She's your typical freaky, evil robot-lady with 5 inch claws who descends from the belly of an enormous tentaculed machine to greet her visitors.

Then comes the good part, Jacko informs her that she can't see the gift he has brought, she can only hear it. His crew busts out a bunch of keyboards and synthesizers and as soon as the music starts, Captain EO suddenly has supernatural powers! He shoots these, uh, laser beam things (?) from his hands and starts turning the evil robot army into a scantily clad 80's dance troupe! They all dance, the S.L. sends more bad guys who become more dancers, and finally, after about 5 minutes of this, Micheal Jackson flies into the air and shoots her with his laser hands and she becomes ANJELICA HOUSTON in a FAIRY OUTFIT!!! And the weirdest thing is that she looks exactly the same as she does now.

It Matters if it's Black and White

Lately I've been trying to write a paper about black and white photography and the workings of the human eye, but its not quite coming together right so I thought I'd try the idea out here.

So, the back of the eye is covered in light-detecting cells called rods and cones. Rods are responsible for 'black and white' vision (cones sense colors.)

If you stare at a completely black surface long enough, your rods, which initially send the signal 'this is black' to your brain, will adjust and instead send the signal 'this is middle grey'. The same thing happens with a white surface - your eyes acclimate until the brain treats it like middle grey. This might seem strange, but it's a very useful phenomenon. It's actually the same thing that happens when your eyes adjust to a dark room, or a bright day. If you adjust to the amount of light coming in, you're better able to compare the things around you to each other, no matter how dark or light it is.

There is a way, though, to prevent the eye from treating either a black surface or a white surface as middle grey. If you place black and white side by side, your rods don't adjust. And, in fact, they send stronger 'this is black' and 'this is white' signals than they would without the juxtaposition. There is also a good reason for this - the brain is finely tuned to parse edges. It works hard to make edges salient so that you can tell where one object ends and another begins. As a result, your perceived contrast between a dark surface and a light surface is not just a function of how different the two surfaces naturally are, it involves your brain upping the perceived difference so that you can really pick it out.

(Incidentally, you also do this with color. A red surface and a green surface side by side will look redder and greener than they would individually. Ditto blue and yellow.)

How does this apply to black and white photography? Mmm, so, in intro photo classes, the teacher will make it abundantly, completely clear that when printing your photo you should always make sure that the brightest part of the picture is completely white, and the darkest part is as black as it can go - 'Get your blackest black and your whitest white.' This rule is so ubiquitous that when a professional photographer fails to do so, the choice usually makes a statement in itself. Photos without a high contrast don't quite...draw the eye. They don't look very snappy, they don't give you that excited-beautiful picture look.

Low contrast compared to...

High contrast -

My idea is that these phenomena are related - the reason black and white photographs look best with a high contrast is that black and white in juxtaposition look blacker and whiter than they do on their own. But there are a few problems: 1) even photographs printed in middle gray are 'fixed' by the brain so the edges look more salient 2) this idea doesn't explain why high-contrast photos are more appealing, just why they look so durn contrast-y.

Thoughts? Anyone?

Rock Warrior

There is this climb at the wall that is mostly pretty easy, but has one move that drives me absolutely nuts. The move happens at the 'crux' ie. where the the wall slopes outward before turning back up again.

It shouldn't be hard, except that I'm a shorty, and this means that occasionally there are moves that are really easy if you can just reach up and grab the hold, and really, really difficult if you have to find another way to get up there.

So here is my solution (for simplicity sake, let's call the hold that's hard to get to the 'holy grail'), I grip onto a hold below the holy grail with my right hand, plant my right foot on a lower hold, swing twice with my entire left side free from the wall, and then on the third swing throw my body upwards with every muscle I've got. If I push to the very limit, my fingers will just get onto the holy grail and I can pull myself up.

(This is not me, by the way, this woman is more jacked, and has a tattoo.)

I would say I accomplish this move about %25 of the time, occasionally getting so tired during the attempts that I have to give up on the rest of the route. Recently, though, I made a new climbing buddy named 'Hal' who offered to belay me. I explained that there was a good chance of failure and Hal said, 'Nah, you got this. You're a rock warrior. Just think 'rock warrior!' when you do it.'

That time when I got to the holy grail I thought 'rock warrior!' and shouted 'hyah!' (sorta stupidly) as I pushed upwards. Got it the first time! And again on my next climb!

Never underestimate the power of putting the word 'warrior' on the end of whatever you're doing and insisting to yourself that you are one. (Bread baking warrior!, Hume-warrior!, Litter box emptying-warrior!)

Misposed

Sometimes when you're about, photographing, something happens and suddenly you just see a picture coming together and it's perfect, and you whip out the camera and snap it! And afterwards you feel this amazing rush, like, I can't believe that just happened! I can't believe the world lined up in that way and allowed me to make this image that is too right to be real.

Here is an example of mine, from a summer afternoon when my little sister was coming back from the garden with her take:

It isn't an amazing art photograph or anything, but there was something about the light, the insane green, the budding fruit and the girl, it all just felt right. And when I saw the photo, I wasn't disappointed.

But sometimes these moments of ecstasy go wrong. You feel that glory, and then the actual photograph is just...not. And if you're a young (or just stupidly in love) photographer photographing the object of your affection, the chances it will go wrong seem...higher than usual.

The problem with photographing someone you're in love with is that you *always* think they look great. And there's something so fascinating about their face and isn't their hair so beautiful, and look at their lovely hands la la la la la. The inspiration is there in the same way, but it comes from something else. Unfortunately for everyone else who isn't in love with your boyfriend or girlfriend they're just flattering photos of moderately attractive people.

Kumq-what?

Today I made the worst sorbet perhaps ever.

It all began when I pointed to a rather large basket of kumquats at the farmer's market and asked, 'how much are these?' 'Two dollars.' 'What?! That is a great price!' I always buy things that are very cheap, even if I don't want them. And so home I came with my kumquats, which promptly started to rot. In desperation I decided to sorbet-them-up (Sig and I got an ice-cream maker for our wedding.) A little boiling, a little blending, a little freezing and tah-dah. Very orange sorbet.

At very first bite, it seemed good. Oh, I thought, how nice and sweet, mmm, and sour, ooo, tangy-smooth, and, and, oh, oh God bitter! So bitter! Argh, the bitter end!

At this moment my mouth is shriveling in what I think is a reaction to so much bitter at once.

I guess I ought to have taken the fact that I could only find one recipe for kumquat sorbet on the entire internet (and that posted by an Australian) to be a bad sign. This will have to go on my list of failed culinary adventures along with the macaroni and cheese made with mayonnaise.

And perhaps it's time for some listening.

Harold and Maude

Is it corny to say that this movie is a 'must see'?

It's the story of 19 year old (hearse-driving, death-faking) Harold who falls in love with 79 year old Maude (prison camp survivor with a zest for life.) The story could be hokey - he's depressed and obsessed with dying, and she shows him how to be happy before dying herself, by choice, but in a good way, on her eightieth birthday. Somehow though, all the bits that might be cliched are treated with such originality and humor that it feels real, and fresh, and beautiful.

Some lines that I would just like to repeat:

Therapist: So how many of these 'suicides' have you done?

Harold: I'd say about 15.

Therapist: And all for the benefit of your mother?

Harold: No... No, I would not say benefit.

In a later scene:

Maude: What flower would you be Harold?

Harold: I don't know. Maybe one of these.

Maude: Why?

Harold: Because they're all the same.

Maude: Oh but they're not! (Expounds on how some are bigger, some smaller, some are missing petals.) I think many of the world's problems stem from people who are this (gesturing to a single flower in her hand) allowing themselves to be treated like that (gesturing to the field of flowers.)

The movie ends (don't read this part if you want to watch it yourself) when Harold proposes to Maude on her eightieth birthday and she tells him that she's just taken the tablets that will end it. He tries and fails to save her. Cut to a shot of Harold driving his hearse up a hill and the hearse flying off a cliff. But then, there is Harold on the top of a hill, holding the banjo Maude gave him and insisted he learn to play. He walks away strumming as Cat Steven's 'If you want to sing out, sing out' plays on the soundtrack. Brilliant!

The best thing about this movie is that it is a sure-fire cure for the blues.