This article pretty much outlines one of the major problems with the new concealed gun law in national parks. Though, it is only ONE of the major problems... Check it out if you're interested:
Yellowstone tangled up by new rule on guns
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
So I'm finally getting around to mentioning New Year's Eve on here. I'll post some pictures, most of which are kind of lame because my point-and-shoot is nye on 10 years old. BUT, it was pretty cool. We don't know many people in town, and of those we did know, most were going to be out of town and one hates New Year's sooooo... we were on our own.
We decided to kick it down at Avogadro's Number, a funky little hippie eatery here in The Fort that serves overpriced health food but that also has a bar on the other side, separated by a stage and small dance floor. They do mostly bluegrass, and on NYE were having a bluegrass jam session and potluck. And, best of all, it was free! Can't beat that. So we cooked up some beer bread and fancy cheese spread and head out.
The music was pretty typical, and the fact that it was a jam session, meaning if you show up with an instrument you can play, added some funk. Unfortunately, nobody was dancing. I don't know if it is the pseudo Coloradoan thing that dictates the no-dancing-to-danceable-music-because-it-would-be-disrespectful thing or if maybe they were all just really shy, but for a good long while, Jonmikel and I were the only ones dancing! We were getting envious looks, so its not like they didn't WANT to dance... I mean, to really appreciate bluegrass, you have to dance to it! Jonmikel had once swore to me that he would only dance if other people were dancing but... you know, its a whole new year!
Free champagne toast!
The jam band
... and a gratuitous balloon shot!
We decided to kick it down at Avogadro's Number, a funky little hippie eatery here in The Fort that serves overpriced health food but that also has a bar on the other side, separated by a stage and small dance floor. They do mostly bluegrass, and on NYE were having a bluegrass jam session and potluck. And, best of all, it was free! Can't beat that. So we cooked up some beer bread and fancy cheese spread and head out.
The music was pretty typical, and the fact that it was a jam session, meaning if you show up with an instrument you can play, added some funk. Unfortunately, nobody was dancing. I don't know if it is the pseudo Coloradoan thing that dictates the no-dancing-to-danceable-music-because-it-would-be-disrespectful thing or if maybe they were all just really shy, but for a good long while, Jonmikel and I were the only ones dancing! We were getting envious looks, so its not like they didn't WANT to dance... I mean, to really appreciate bluegrass, you have to dance to it! Jonmikel had once swore to me that he would only dance if other people were dancing but... you know, its a whole new year!
Free champagne toast!
The jam band
... and a gratuitous balloon shot!Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Date Line
Have you ever noticed how much cooler periods looks than slashes in date lines? What looks even cooler is if you write 13.1.08 instead of 1.13.08. Something about this minute combination of lines and curves and dots screams, "European!" and/or “I’m way more worldly than you!” in oh so many sweet ways.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Man, you're OLD
I read this article today, about a 140-year-old lobster being released from an upscale NYC eatery out of sheer respect for his age and an ambiguous fear of PETA. While I disagree that by releasing him you are allowing him to live the remainder of his days in peace (being eaten alive by a larger, fiercer predator is not in any way peaceful, as far as I can tell), I thought it was really... sweet. It's always a shame to be That Guy who kills off something that is way older than any of us can even imagine being, something that has seen the turns of two centuries and two world wars, that has seen tin cans tied to strings become cell phones, and Morse Code become AOL instant messaging. I certainly hope that that guy, probably a fat white American executive with no scruples, who would have asked for the world's only known 140-year-old lobster to be served with low-fat margarine instead of butter would at least feel a little dirty.
It was also reminiscent of this story I read while ago about a bowhead whale caught off the coast of Alaska (legally, by Alaskans with traditional use rights), and as they were butchering him (her?), they found a harpoon tip lodged in its shoulder. It had been shot with it some time ago, then escaped and recovered. Turns out, that some time ago was AT LEAST 115 years ago, based on the age and design of the spear, an exploding lance from the late 1800s. Assuming that the whale was an adult at the time, and taking into account the time it takes for a whale to age.... that animal could have been pushing 150 years old. Scientists have long held that the bowhead whale has one of the longest life-spans of any mammal, and this just kinda made me sit in awe. I mean, that's pretty d*&n old.
And all this seems like small potatoes when you consider that bristlecone pines in Great Basin National Park could be pushing 6000 years old, and are are still going strong.
It was also reminiscent of this story I read while ago about a bowhead whale caught off the coast of Alaska (legally, by Alaskans with traditional use rights), and as they were butchering him (her?), they found a harpoon tip lodged in its shoulder. It had been shot with it some time ago, then escaped and recovered. Turns out, that some time ago was AT LEAST 115 years ago, based on the age and design of the spear, an exploding lance from the late 1800s. Assuming that the whale was an adult at the time, and taking into account the time it takes for a whale to age.... that animal could have been pushing 150 years old. Scientists have long held that the bowhead whale has one of the longest life-spans of any mammal, and this just kinda made me sit in awe. I mean, that's pretty d*&n old.
And all this seems like small potatoes when you consider that bristlecone pines in Great Basin National Park could be pushing 6000 years old, and are are still going strong.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Can Industry Be Beautiful?
I took these shots on the way home from Fort Laramie as we drove by:
They were quite imposing, really, smoke stacks rising up from the high plains, the middle of nowhere, pumping out loads of exhaust and steam. The brisk day was making the smoke seem much more intense and worrying than it would have been normally, accenting the steam in the cold air.
The general Flickr reaction has been extremely positive, and most people think I'm trying to make a statement with it, some protest against coal and pollution. Something about making a power plant into something artistic and eerily beautiful? I never put that much creativity or thought into it. Really, I just thought it would be a cool picture.
Though I am rather proud.
They were quite imposing, really, smoke stacks rising up from the high plains, the middle of nowhere, pumping out loads of exhaust and steam. The brisk day was making the smoke seem much more intense and worrying than it would have been normally, accenting the steam in the cold air.
The general Flickr reaction has been extremely positive, and most people think I'm trying to make a statement with it, some protest against coal and pollution. Something about making a power plant into something artistic and eerily beautiful? I never put that much creativity or thought into it. Really, I just thought it would be a cool picture.
Though I am rather proud.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Ft. Collins smelled familiar today.
Instead of the agricultural and cow crap smell that usually drifts from the east, freezing above the city, and seeping in through your windows and into your hair, this was different.
It was chilly air and an almost sub-tropical aftertaste. It will reach 60 degrees here today, and that spring wet smell that always precedes that kind of warmth began to trickle in. Because a train had come through just before my walk to work, there was oil and railway grit on the roads, and my shoe slipped a little in a greasy puddle as I crossed the tracks. The roads smelled dirty and sweaty and industrial. Because the sun was out and the weather was turning warm, local Caloradoans decided that this morning was the perfect morning to wash and work on their massive SUVs, and the air smelled thick of organic car soap and the sweet and grimy smell of dirty car parts and the urban essence of exhaust. Because it had been cold and windy last night, some people had forgotten to turn off wood-burning stoves, and the sharp twinge of cedar hung in the trees, and even the smell of cinnamon and ginger from local bakeries was trapped in the low-hanging layer of morning chill. The city smelled thick and dirty and sweaty and industrial and humid and foreign and almost exotic in its spicy urban morning.
You know what it smelled like? Morocco...
Instead of the agricultural and cow crap smell that usually drifts from the east, freezing above the city, and seeping in through your windows and into your hair, this was different.
It was chilly air and an almost sub-tropical aftertaste. It will reach 60 degrees here today, and that spring wet smell that always precedes that kind of warmth began to trickle in. Because a train had come through just before my walk to work, there was oil and railway grit on the roads, and my shoe slipped a little in a greasy puddle as I crossed the tracks. The roads smelled dirty and sweaty and industrial. Because the sun was out and the weather was turning warm, local Caloradoans decided that this morning was the perfect morning to wash and work on their massive SUVs, and the air smelled thick of organic car soap and the sweet and grimy smell of dirty car parts and the urban essence of exhaust. Because it had been cold and windy last night, some people had forgotten to turn off wood-burning stoves, and the sharp twinge of cedar hung in the trees, and even the smell of cinnamon and ginger from local bakeries was trapped in the low-hanging layer of morning chill. The city smelled thick and dirty and sweaty and industrial and humid and foreign and almost exotic in its spicy urban morning.
You know what it smelled like? Morocco...
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