tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9457838763273808232024-03-18T05:47:12.959-04:00The Butler and Bagman ChroniclesBagman and Butler are like the cartoon devil and angel that sit on people's shoulders and whisper in their ears. Except without too many moral overtones. They are the internal conversation going on in my head.Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.comBlogger615125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-945783876327380823.post-7128623807242710792014-01-31T08:58:00.000-04:002014-01-31T08:58:14.346-04:00Friday Shootout - Lines, Space, etc.Last week, Ginger posted a picture that reminded me of a similar one I took awhile ago. Since it fits with the theme, I decided to lead off with it here. <br />
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It's a shame that Bagman and Butler aren't here to help me add entertainment value this morning because I'm brain-dead from three days snowed in with grandchildren who have drained all my creativity and left me today with blankets and sheets to be removed from tents and pirate ships and turned back into beds. Cookie crumbs, popcorn, and pieces of race cars that lost control at the top of the stairs. And sore knees from being a horse in too many rodeos. <br />
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So...just a post from the archives.<br />
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Until next week...Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.com81tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-945783876327380823.post-31237615526403676372014-01-24T09:48:00.003-04:002014-01-24T09:50:19.467-04:00Friday Hometown Shootout -- Open Space<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As soon as I entered my studio -- I stopped calling it the Bagman and Butler studio about a year ago when I began to accept that they were wandering the world and probably never coming back -- but as soon as I entered the studio, I realized something was amiss.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The computers were on, humming, and my blog was on the screen. It didn't take a second for me to realize that somebody had been messing with my header. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I hit the button to check my email and sure enough:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">1/23/2014 - 7:04 PM</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">TO: Riverwatcher</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">FROM: Bagster456</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">SUBJECT: Thought I was dead, I bet </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Hey, Boss, you old fart. You didn't think you could start posting again without me finding out about it, did you? They have WiFi at the cafes here in Amsterdam as well as the best pot in Europe. And I still remember how to log in to our old computers even if I don't always remember my name. I saw your last post and it was lame. You didn't even fool around with your header so I thought I'd give you some help. You can thank me later. Who knows, I might visit you sometime although you're a real bore, you know. PS: I heard from Butler awhile ago. Who knows why. Maybe he was lonely. Anyhow, I'm about to fall asleep.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Not wanting to risk what Bagman might do next, I decided to leave it although I didn't like it much. And I didn't have time to mess with it anyhow. But I did want to put in a post this week, so I went to work on it. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Once again, I can't think of much to say, so I'll mostly just post pictures.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lots of space around this house</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">but apparently no buyers...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Heading out to even more open space</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was just about to close off this blog and post it when, lo and behold (whatever lo and behold means), I noticed an email had just hit my inbox.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">1/23/214 - 8:03 p.m.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">TO: Riverwatcher</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">FROM: Chef Butler III<br />SUBJECT: Greetings</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">Dear Mark,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;"> It is with the greatest pleasure that I reconnect with you over the fine medium of the Internet. I am on a long weekend break from the Academy of Cheffing in Paris. I am enjoying Italy although I have noticed that the restaurants don't always know how to set a proper table. But since I learned that you are attempting to blog again without my assistance, and, of course, the pseudo-assistance of our dubiously attired friend, I would send you some photographs to add to your blog. You really shouldn't be attempting to blog again without us, you know. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">Yours truly,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">Butler</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now I am totally speechless It is like a visit from the Ghosts of Blogspot Past. I sit helplessly while Butler posts some pictures from Italy. Time has lost meaning since I know he took these pictures over 6 years ago. </span></div>
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<span id="goog_1020168216"></span><span id="goog_1020168217"></span> Lots of space above,</div>
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below, not so much...</div>
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And so I end my post, wondering what comes next. I have promised myself that I won't spend more time than I have to post things, and yet what do I do if Bagman and Butler actually show up in the studio. I can't let them have run of the place without supervision. On the one hand, I'd love to see them again. On the other hand, they can be more time consuming and nuttier than my grandchildren. </div>
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I'll just have to take it a day at a time and see how things play out. </div>
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Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-945783876327380823.post-55856789134927350102014-01-17T11:18:00.003-04:002014-01-17T11:18:36.863-04:00Shootout - RusticI had planned to take on this one with a little more thought and time - but<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgORyWOspGcmOV4V0IqXBfRoQhzsMX5gM4zQh1Nv3jaSrhYUxTSwNAPrXFPOAjZJvzJiaBvJq1kEjF27Xkb1wFbtft4m77sdessHDd4Fl4TgUq-X8FF4ma184nSoQo8PYOwcaA8GmJcWENS/s1600/20130721_Beaufort_5573.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgORyWOspGcmOV4V0IqXBfRoQhzsMX5gM4zQh1Nv3jaSrhYUxTSwNAPrXFPOAjZJvzJiaBvJq1kEjF27Xkb1wFbtft4m77sdessHDd4Fl4TgUq-X8FF4ma184nSoQo8PYOwcaA8GmJcWENS/s1600/20130721_Beaufort_5573.jpg" height="211" width="320" /></a></div>
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Just a few picture to proove I'm still around.Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-945783876327380823.post-76327839270762914252013-12-20T01:00:00.000-04:002013-12-20T01:00:00.158-04:00Friday Morning Shootout -- Breaking the rules, as usualI know the theme is about celebrating the holidays but I've been busy enough preparing for the holidays -- made difficult since the grandchildren are around and trying to get their presents hidden and then revealed and then wrapped and then hidden again leaves little time for shooting the celebration.<br />
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Of course, I will shoot lots of snapshots of family over the next couple of weeks but while they will certainly be cute, I sometimes wonder how many pictures do I really need of children opening presents and adults eating. <br />
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So...while Butler will be irritated with me...I'm going to completely ignore the theme this week. Apologies to all. <br />
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Photographically, I've been devoting almost all my free time to processing (and deleting) 528 raw shots that I took last month when Karen and I excaped the daily grind and give ourselves a well-needed vacation in Costa Rica. Mostly in the Southwest around San Isidro del General. <br />
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I'll probably miss next weeks shoot entirely but with any luck I'll get back to the correct theme in 2014. <br />
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I'm so glad to be back in touch with you all again...old friends and making some new ones. Have a wonderful holiday season. I love you all. <br />
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<strong>Mark's FHTSO "Wrong Theme": Costa Rica</strong><br />
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I was going to try and re-arrange these in some kind of order that made sense but, as usual, time is running away from me...so random is the order.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxamHNTBQgjKBzS-LyQC8fSOW91hSz-lLEkf0kMzPTmFaPvWMwD_Pf4JYKp2dPJvS-L9BqhCouqIecE1q1CeFPRrGg1n-eIkdl2o5cgHFZMwpRxNxcuSxuGUBpB3cas6L-mSx69ZIqEkZB/s1600/20131127_CostaRica_6587_HDR2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxamHNTBQgjKBzS-LyQC8fSOW91hSz-lLEkf0kMzPTmFaPvWMwD_Pf4JYKp2dPJvS-L9BqhCouqIecE1q1CeFPRrGg1n-eIkdl2o5cgHFZMwpRxNxcuSxuGUBpB3cas6L-mSx69ZIqEkZB/s640/20131127_CostaRica_6587_HDR2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Great two hour horseback ride to reach these falls</div>
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No...I didn't climb the falls, nor jump from them...</div>
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just cheered those that did.</div>
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From the tops of mountains, you look down on clouds...</div>
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Of course, driving up, the clouds become great foggy challenges on twisty roads.</div>
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<strong>Mother and baby sloth -- in the wild</strong></div>
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<strong>but visible from the balcony of a restaurant.</strong></div>
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These white capuchins come down to the beaches from the surrounding trees</div>
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and steal potato chips from sunbathing tourists.</div>
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Throughout the Southern part of Costa Rica there are handcarved Baruca Indian masks for sale. But if you want to destroy your rental car on a 7 kilometer rutted dirt road straight up a mountain you can reach the town of Baruca, itself. In a bit of pure luck there was a Baruca woman at the bottom of the road looking for a ride. On the way up, I asked her who the best mask-carver in the village was. She took us deep into the village and introduced us to Ishmael Gomez and his family -- at 95, he is the village carving teacher. He and his family were the nicest people, just opened up their home to us for a wonderful two or three hours. </div>
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Ishamel at work</div>
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Incredible clouds everywhere</div>
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View from Baruca</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8qdhXEWh7gfdt_3He_7rlyptwKcMf5tiGHmUwuJSHnJbRM9NrKsR2JGnJFlC7fjOPKc5y2_0cUr03AX2krBDlHWR-o9xDb5sDR0Pbf_KJnkhlUnmI6q5k91xfe-h-P4Qg_SW899ye9zLQ/s1600/20131125_CostaRica_6846.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8qdhXEWh7gfdt_3He_7rlyptwKcMf5tiGHmUwuJSHnJbRM9NrKsR2JGnJFlC7fjOPKc5y2_0cUr03AX2krBDlHWR-o9xDb5sDR0Pbf_KJnkhlUnmI6q5k91xfe-h-P4Qg_SW899ye9zLQ/s640/20131125_CostaRica_6846.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<strong>Town of San Isidro del General</strong></div>
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<img height="96" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQu_jUMMaNioHQcI1dad4j2__pGIr1dN4Wr4Gbn4hnqPqSk6eg5d2Q-IjW6uugQ5QaPKAfIhZSIZs8TFFMACBeN8bdFAPRpzs_oisuGTHF3DOHF3K886ZsfIDXlib_kG2NImGV7u0sAW5V/s320/20131126_CostaRica_6682_HDR.jpg" style="filter: alpha(opacity=30); left: 346px; opacity: 0.3; position: absolute; top: 989px;" width="64" /><br />
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Thanks, in advance for letting me sneak into the Friday Shoot with the wrong theme. Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-945783876327380823.post-71430403238653691342013-12-13T01:34:00.000-04:002013-12-13T01:34:00.220-04:00FHTSO LightsNo time for much banter but I feel, once again, that old urge to at least attempt participation. Being welcomed back after such an absence felt so good. We all really get attached to each other, don't we.<br />
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Anyhow, I'm throwing into the pot today a picture of our Christmas tree -- it was really more of an attempt to balance indoor and outdoor light in the same picture. And four snapshots from the James Island Festival of lights -- every year we pile the kids into the truck and tour the County Park which has a huge display of lights. <br />
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I know there has been some interest in the return of Bagman and Butler and you will be pleased to hear that because of my post last week, both of them have contacted me and expressed interest in returning. <br />
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However, at the moment they are being detained. Butler has taken a sabbatical from Chef School but is stuck in London. Apparently all the flights are overbooked because of a major conference of International Stock Brokers. He has decided to wait for the conference to end and spend his time researching the life and works of John Maynard Keynes.<br />
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Bagman somehow managed to get himself captured by a primitive tribe in New Guinea where the chief has forced him to become the Tribal Toy and turned him over to all the tribe's grandchildren who spend each day climbing on top of him.<br />
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With any luck they will be returning soon. <br />
Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-945783876327380823.post-72429910589439439792013-12-05T09:45:00.002-04:002013-12-05T09:46:11.065-04:00Yes, thank you, Ginger, I'm still aliveI never thought I'd come back to this place again...except I know that whenever I say never, God is sure to overturn my obstinancy. <br />
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But when Ginger emailed me and all the other Friday Hometown Shooters last week...it was a reunion I could not refuse. I am fortunate, in retirement, to be so busy with a life full of people and projects, that I can't say I will get back to the old blogging frequency and creativity. I'm not even sure these days where Bagman and Butler are. I think Bagman is in Amsterdam and the last I heard Butler was attending a chef school in the South of France. <br />
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But I am going to post a couple of pictures for tomorrow's shoot. The theme is a problem for me. Rush hour. Since I no longer comute to work, I don't remember what rush hour is, let alone have any pictures of it. <br />
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But I do have a couple of pictures of "rushing"....or experiencing a "rush" of adrenalin. I guess these will have to do.<br />
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Mostly I can't wait to see what all my other old friends come up with...it has been along time, but the Blogspot Community is like family -- you can be gone for years and when you come back, it's just like you never left.</div>
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Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-945783876327380823.post-31035893829626548162013-02-01T12:54:00.000-04:002013-02-01T12:54:09.856-04:00Just to prove I'm not dead At least not yet.<br />
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But I do seem to have abandoned blogging for the most part. Just spending a little more time in the real world -- not that any of you are not real! More time with grandchildren and also getting out with the camera a bit more and trying to learn something about High Dynamic Range photography. But not getting very good results yet. <br />
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I do miss reading blogs and I do miss so many of you. <br />
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It was also scary to come back today, look at my last blog and see that it had been spammed by several people selling money making ideas and porn. I deleted them but wondered whether they have also hit earlier blogs. Damn. Why can't everybody be nice? I guess there are just so many people in the world that there have to be outliers to the statistical niceness bell curve. <br />
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I've also been spending more time in the woods behind our house. <br />
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I discovered <a href="http://bagmanslogorrhea.blogspot.com/2012/09/walking-twisty-woods.html" target="_blank">last October,</a> that it is a lush battleground between vines and trees. It has been urging me to experiment with a photo series that I think of as "The Codependency of Vines and Trees." <br />
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Ah...codependency...so many blogs could be written about that.<br />
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I'm not getting the images that I see in my mind yet but I'll post a few. There are some things that don't convert well from idea to image. Vines on trees may be one of those subjects. Too busy! Too messy. But I guess that's also true of codependency. <br />
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Anyhow...<br />
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Bagman and Butler aren't here right now but they send their regards.</div>
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BAGMAN: "WE ARE TOO HERE! WHY ARE YOU SHUTTING US UP!!!"</div>
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BUTLER: "Easy does it, Baggie. He just doesn't want to put in the extra time and energy to let us dialogue."</div>
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BAGMAN: "Lazy bugger."</div>
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Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.com79tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-945783876327380823.post-91139097431410940192013-01-07T11:05:00.005-04:002013-01-07T11:05:52.457-04:00Alpha Males (Females), Evolution, and Matchbox Cars<ol>
<li>The sound of little feet running up the wood stairs and running across the playroom floor.</li>
<li>The hardly audible sound of a large plastic drawer being pulled out of what I can only describe as a toy dresser, followed by the avalanching crash of 4,378 small cast metal cars being dumped on the floor!</li>
<li>The sound of a 2.5-year-old and a 4-year old giggling and discussing automobiles in an almost-English language that they understand better than we do.</li>
<li>The sound of increasingly louder words that I understand well and expected from the first sound of feet on the stairs:</li>
<ul>
<li>"Mine!"</li>
<li>"MINE"</li>
<li>MAH-EEEEEEEEN!!!!!" (When establishing childhood pecking order, "mine" becomes a two-syllable word. The first syllable is shouted forcefully and the second syllable escalates in pitch and volume until it sounds like a member of the Vienna Boy's Choir on steroids with his robe on fire.) </li>
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At this point, Karen will yell up the stairs from the kitchen, "Stop fighting!! Why do you always fight!! You're brothers!!"<br />
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And I will mutter, "Exactly." Because that's what brothers do. <br />
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Whcih leads us to two important topics for consideration: Matchbox Cars and Alpha Males.<br />
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<strong>MATCHBOX CARS</strong><br />
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We have more toy cars than we know what to do with. Maybe that's the reason but I don't think so. <br />
We have Hot wheels, Matchbox and at least three other miniature brands that I can remember but am not inclined to go dig through the piles in the playroom in the name of accuracy.<br />
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We have new ones and old ones. Brian's cars when he was his son's age. And some from Uncle Stephen's childhood collection. <em>We even have some so old that they weren't even made in China</em> but in Malaysia and Thailand. And there are two that were actually made in England and would probably be worth a fortune if they had all four wheels. <br />
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You might think that 400 or 500 toy cars should be enough for two boys. But 396 or 496 of these cars are irrelevant. Within the pile are the four cars that count. Even when playing alone, Conner can get frantic: "Where's my red car!!" <br />
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Difficult for me to respond to this basic need since there are probably more than 200 red cars. But over time, I have learned which car he is talking about. And I understand it. Maybe it is a male thing. At 67 years old, even I have a couple of favorites in the pile -- a Nissan Turbo Z and a vintage Aston Martin that I have coveted since my son, their father, was a child. For awhile, I even kept the Z in my desk drawer to protect it. <br />
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<strong>ALPHA MALES</strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
But none of this is about cars anyway. Each brother knows the other brother's favorite car. As soon as the cars are dumped on the floor, the boys dive into it like the Green Pay Packers on a fumble. I used to think they were trying to gain possession of their own favorite cars but they are really trying to get possession of each other's favorite cars. That way they can wave it in their brother's face.<br />
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In the NFL, the referee would throw the yellow flag and charge the offender a 15 yard penalty for taunting.<br />
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"MAH-EEEEEEEN !!!!!"<br />
"MAH-EEEEEEEN !!!!!"<br />
"MAH-EEEEEEEN !!!!!"<br />
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The screams of young Alpha Male wanna-be's. <br />
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Until Karen stops yelling at them and turns on me. "Aren't you going to get off the couch and do something?!"<br />
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I know that the first answer that pops in my mind ("Not unless bleeding in involved") is NOT the correct answer so, reluctantly, I go upstairs to settle it.<br />
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I also know that this is not a problem of good manners or etiquette or the most recent flavor of childhood development theory. It is a problem of anthropology and evolution. Therefore, the tools of pleading, instruction, negotiation, manipulation, bribery, and even parental discipline are only going to be minimally effective. <br />
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So I walk into the toy room and perform the ogre roar from Shrek II. It is the commanding Alpha Male roar of all evolutionarily advanced large mammals -- lions, gorillas, etc. <br />
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Except for whales which, I think, are even more evolutionarily advanced than humans and do not need to roar. Either that or whales have given up roaring because underwater roaring only results in a lot of large bubbles which then causes laughter in the other whales they are trying to impress.<br />
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Hey! Maybe that is the next step in human evolution -- to establish dominance through giggling. I kind of like that idea. Wars could be conducted through stand-up comedy routines. Come to think of it, politicians are already moving in that direction. <br />
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But I digress, as usual. I, the true Alpha Male of the house, roar and the kids stop screaming at each other and start trying to make a legal case to me. "I had it first! No, I had it first! Etc. Etc." Whereupon, I fall back on the wisdom of Solomon and threaten to cut it in two. Although, truth be told, I think that it would be a real challenge to try and cut a Matchbox Car in two even if it was made in China. <br />
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So I just say, "Come on, guys. Play nice."<br />
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Which usually works for an hour or so. <br />
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Addendum:<br />
<br />
While I have focused, here, on the Alpha Male, I should note that humans have evolved -- a little -- beyond lions and gorillas. Most of our prides and packs and families are now, thankfully, controlled more by the Alpha Female with the exception of some members of the National Rifle Association.<br />
<br />
The Alpha Male Ogre Roar is almost always trumped by the Alpha Female Look. The Look is silent and deadly. It is done with a slow turn of the head and a stare that was first developed and patented by Medusa.<br />
<br />
After roaring, I always prepare for The Look - even if I was only responding to her request to get off the couch and "do something." <br />
<br />
The Look instantly turns me to stone and lasts as long as is needed for me to process, within the granite of my head: the socially incorrect use of roaring, all other recent guilt-producing errors of my ways, the wisdom of whales and the contents of 40,000 self-help books. <br />
<br />
Having had years of practice, I can complete this internal act of contrition in five seconds or less.<br />
<br />
After which, we all demonstrate forgiveness and love to each other by changing the subject and discussing the lives of celebrities.<br />
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Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-945783876327380823.post-17979346445969316052012-12-29T13:59:00.001-04:002012-12-29T13:59:25.355-04:00Whirlwind - why I'll never catch up Whirlwind<br />
A wonderful whirlwind with<br />
sugar and toy-jazzed grandkids<br />
wrapping paper and toys everywhere<br />
trampled chocolate and gum in the carpets<br />
<br />
To do list growing to two pages<br />
typewritten<br />
single spaced<br />
10 point charactors<br />
Enough to fill 2013<br />
which isn't even here yet.<br />
Only 361 days until next Christmas<br />
<br />
Just remembered<br />
Exchange Karen's sweater for smaller size<br />
Repair engine on Conner's train set<br />
Repair net on the basketball goal<br />
To do list growing to three pages<br />
or just reduce the type<br />
to 9 points<br />
<br />
If I make the typesize small enough<br />
I won't be able to read it and maybe<br />
it will go away.<br />
<br />
Missed the Friday Shootout<br />
and I had a good blog planned too...<br />
Pictures still in camera.<br />
Maybe I'll do a belated blog.<br />
Add it to the To Do list.<br />
<br />
______________________________________________________________<br />
<br />
BUTLER: "You know, if you stopped wasting time making a To Do list and just did each task as it came along instead of adding it to a list..."<br />
<br />
BAGMAN: "Forget the tasks. Just look at the faces on Conner, Noah, and Kay..."<br />
<br />
_______________________________________________________________<br />
<br />
Karen's car pulls into the driveway<br />
I can see it from my window.<br />
Door slams downstairs<br />
Feet running down the hall and up the stairs<br />
"Diggy! Diggy! Diggy! Diggy!"<br />
<br />
No time to edit, just<br />
push the publish key,<br />
turn off the computer and lock it<br />
(some things need protection)<br />
from the whirlwind,<br />
Jimi Hendrix song in my mind:<br />
"The wind cries Diggy."<br />
<br />
Beat the footsteps to the second floor hallway,<br />
drop to my knees, open my arms<br />
and let the whirlwind <br />
blow me, smiling, up.<br />
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Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-945783876327380823.post-6676982711782653342012-12-21T12:39:00.001-04:002012-12-21T12:39:30.989-04:00FMHTSO - Rainy stuffHaving just dropped the kids off after several uninterrupted days of rolling around on the floor, getting jumped on, hugging, building with legos and spending zero time on the computer, I dash into the B&B Studio for the Friday Shootout Blog. And Friday is already half over.<br />
<br />
"So what have you guys come up with?" I ask Butler and Bagman who are lounging around looking fairly bored.<br />
<br />
BAGMAN: "Diddly Squat."<br />
BUTLER: "He means that we don't really have anything."<br />
<br />
"I know what 'diddly squat' means," I reply. "But surely out of thousands of photographs, we must have a couple of rainy pictures."<br />
<br />
BAGMAN: "OK, Almost diddly squat."<br />
<br />
BUTLER: "In Mark's defense, he is appropriately careful not to get his camera wet."<br />
<br />
BAGMAN (rolling his eyes): "Or let sand or dirt get in it, or let it get too hot or too cold. He treats it like a baby!"<br />
<br />
"Except I put the baby in the bathtub regularly and she loves getting wet," I protest. "And we did find this one..."<br />
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BAGMAN: "Our hero! Fearless photographer. Shooting from inside a car."</div>
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"The camera is a delicate thing!" I argue. </div>
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BAGMAN: "Barclay took his Nikon all over Africa in all kinds of weather and mud and hippo filled rivers and..."</div>
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"And it came back filled with sand and mud and dents and scratches," I protest.</div>
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BUTLER: "And he got some incredible pictures while you were mostly shooting pieces of furniture and shadows on the livingroom wall..."</div>
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BAGMAN: "Maybe you should just frame the camera itself and hang it on the wall."</div>
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I decide that maybe the boys have a point and maybe I need to get out more. But first I try to squeeze in one more picture.</div>
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BUTLER: "Not too bad, but you realize that lightening is not actually rain."</div>
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BAGMAN: "Besides you took it from safely inside your back porch."</div>
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"But I had the door open," I whine.</div>
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BAGMAN: "National Geographic would be proud."</div>
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Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-945783876327380823.post-49695401825580545322012-12-13T12:39:00.000-04:002012-12-13T12:49:30.256-04:00FMTSO - How I Celebrate the Holidays<br />
I was going to avoid this topic because...<br />
<br />
BAGMAN (Rudely interrupting me): "Because you're a weenie and you always..."<br />
<br />
BUTLER (Politely interrupting Bagman): "Let him finish his first sentence, at least. He is probably going to make his usual holiday disclaimer about being a grinch. I know he says it every year but it makes him feel good so give him a break."<br />
<br />
Now that my partners have stolen my thunder, I don't know where to start.<br />
<br />
BAGMAN (whispering in Butler's ear): "Thunder?"<br />
<br />
Anyhow, I was going to avoid it because I couldn't really identify what special ways I celebrate the holidays. It varies from year to year. <br />
<br />
And I don't have any really good photographs. I'm expected to take a lot of pictures and every year I file away tons of pictures of people of all ages tearing paper off of boxes. And holding up the present and smiling appropriately no matter what it was. It seems fun at the time but with few exceptions...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJb6p43uXdGZoVVmU9LQ_hc0C2TDAGZwwkFRs-PcEvObSTXAEYZuMroLSz0QFu8kpulWFp5qjL3s0tEdYxS8yoPoTgTz1DfN2Cfy1uTPnXDP6odwTLQm78DZHJxhDwwqBEaDD00To6S2AC/s1600/92SallyXmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJb6p43uXdGZoVVmU9LQ_hc0C2TDAGZwwkFRs-PcEvObSTXAEYZuMroLSz0QFu8kpulWFp5qjL3s0tEdYxS8yoPoTgTz1DfN2Cfy1uTPnXDP6odwTLQm78DZHJxhDwwqBEaDD00To6S2AC/s400/92SallyXmas.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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...like the year Brian got Sally...</div>
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...the other 56,748 snapshots have no use except as a cure for insomnia.</div>
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And, Butler is right, I was also going to avoid the post because the false impression that I like to give that I'm a grinch. But the Universe (or as I like to call it, 'God's sense of humor) seems to have turned the tables on me and given me an annual tradition. And not one that I'm happy about.</div>
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<strong>I CELEBRATE THE HOLIDAYS BY GOING TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM.</strong></div>
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<strong></strong> </div>
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In 2010, <a href="http://bagmanslogorrhea.blogspot.com/2010/11/breaking-my-arm-humerous-tale.html" target="_blank">I fell off the stepladder while decorating the Christmas tree</a> and broke my arm. </div>
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In 2011, I was suddenly attacked by some kind of incredible rash that covered my hands and feet with hundreds of agonizingly itchy welts. </div>
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I figured it was just coincidence. But this year, I was home alone, performing the annual Christmas ritual of hiding presents from curious grandchildren. In our new house there is a locked entrance to the attic crawl space. Behind the door is a space that is clear of blown insulation where I've been storing Christmas stuff as well as everything else that I don't have a place for and don't know what to do with but can't throw away. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8WQvspnpGNDFZh740Z_cF6dZZqTKBK69L5mIoVrHSTWyuw8uvoZXEr4XjCMmMdEuZD0O0YDt2Or0tzCGErlIt7XzKQHSQBUackx41hFSI1LvkM6elp0i-MTrfOuNbyb6tosCrPl_-5T0Z/s1600/20121212_toysinattic3749.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8WQvspnpGNDFZh740Z_cF6dZZqTKBK69L5mIoVrHSTWyuw8uvoZXEr4XjCMmMdEuZD0O0YDt2Or0tzCGErlIt7XzKQHSQBUackx41hFSI1LvkM6elp0i-MTrfOuNbyb6tosCrPl_-5T0Z/s400/20121212_toysinattic3749.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Note how neatly I store things</div>
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Also note baseball glove </div>
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Two gloves actually, smaller one for Noah tucked behind larger one for Conner. I point this out because as I put these down, one of the baseballs slipped out and fell off to the right. So I reached down to get it, stepping to my left so I could reach it and...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyJxOTmpeGfTkfUC5yVtCuJO2NqI_sZUUiOhJo4YVshyphenhyphenGMhT5Jnls-jkG2W2NFCvkn2AxB3zm97uQ7yYtB8MwaG7Xe6kZ7Mu5oMgtzcabFU64YEBmZ72dQg-U9LwlK2x_3f7w48c2V3oSg/s1600/20121212_tophole3750.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyJxOTmpeGfTkfUC5yVtCuJO2NqI_sZUUiOhJo4YVshyphenhyphenGMhT5Jnls-jkG2W2NFCvkn2AxB3zm97uQ7yYtB8MwaG7Xe6kZ7Mu5oMgtzcabFU64YEBmZ72dQg-U9LwlK2x_3f7w48c2V3oSg/s400/20121212_tophole3750.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Concealed beneath the blown insulation was the edge of the supportive walk area</div>
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Note there is now a hole there just under the yellow thing</div>
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which I think is a sleeping bag that somehow got flung into the insulation</div>
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by my flailing arms as my foot went through the floor.</div>
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LESSON #1: 2 inch plasterboard will not hold 245 pounds of clumsy male flesh.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY_D5vnG_cFI1qWwWE_lGPldp5ckoTh1PDPrtGcIQ5RCt1fvCaUdJuLYWGxUlXup0g48hF8F3p7ACBC5dfVMmxHXXAl2zFXLXMmXR3A8i8zajFdQIoS2qDgLV0I6pUGY_wE-ItdV5D45jh/s1600/20121212_hole3753.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY_D5vnG_cFI1qWwWE_lGPldp5ckoTh1PDPrtGcIQ5RCt1fvCaUdJuLYWGxUlXup0g48hF8F3p7ACBC5dfVMmxHXXAl2zFXLXMmXR3A8i8zajFdQIoS2qDgLV0I6pUGY_wE-ItdV5D45jh/s400/20121212_hole3753.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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LESSON #2A: If you are going to fall through a floor/ceiling, it is preferable to land on top of high cabinets rather than going all the way to the floor even if it is where we desplay Karen's collection of old bottles.</div>
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LESSON #2B: If you are going to land on Karen's bottle collection, it is preferable to be wearing shoes (which, thankfully, I was). </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1hyNAb29dLbX87O_FedxLfdf5Uajs786Oqpm4t6QRTOIiNkiET2J8bR4UuCYqrnRu9oqQh9SS36BjMNqWokQsGTVEBl6FYhNJ9zjXGTUrrDC1or1eQwC0hAa6TGuvBMLkpnzzFPrhEfx6/s1600/20121212_holefmtsoillustrated3752.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1hyNAb29dLbX87O_FedxLfdf5Uajs786Oqpm4t6QRTOIiNkiET2J8bR4UuCYqrnRu9oqQh9SS36BjMNqWokQsGTVEBl6FYhNJ9zjXGTUrrDC1or1eQwC0hAa6TGuvBMLkpnzzFPrhEfx6/s400/20121212_holefmtsoillustrated3752.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Note that this is not my real leg</div>
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LESSON #3 Even with ceilings, the exit wound is larger than the entrance wound. </div>
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My first thought, of course, was that Karen was going to kill me! That ceiling is less than three months old! I'm in so much hot water!!</div>
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Then, with a rush of gratitude, I noticed the soft, warm feeling of blood dribbling down my arm. Since it was my leg that went through, I couldn't understand what my arm had been doing but there were several superficial scratches on the arm and one really good gash in my left hand. With a sign of relief, I immediately knew the gash would need stitches. </div>
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I was relieved because Karen loves my hand more than she loves the ceiling and the hot water I would be considerably cooler. </div>
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So I got to take my third annual Holiday outing to the Emergency Room. It wasn't that bad and I was able to use a towel to keep from bleeding on the new floors or in my car. I drove with my right hand while holding the towel-wrapped left one up to reduce the bleeding. With my hand raised near the window, people I passed all thought I was waving to them. They smiled and waved. </div>
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Postcript:</div>
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Only 9 stitches and I'm as good as new. A contractor friend has repaired the ceiling and we're back to normal.</div>
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But I can't wait to see what happens next year.</div>
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Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-945783876327380823.post-9753602041368598342012-12-07T15:55:00.001-04:002012-12-07T15:55:46.455-04:00Friday Shootout - Best FriendI was planning to skip this one. <br />
<br />
BUTLER: "How is that different from two months of not posting at all."<br />
<br />
"During the last two months, I just blew off everything. This week I actually considered it and then planned to skip it."<br />
<br />
BAGMAN: "You're crazier than I am, dude."<br />
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BUTLER: "May I ask why you planned to skip this one?"<br />
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After considering for a moment, I respond, "I came to the conclusion that I don't have any best friends."<br />
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BAGMAN (mocking loudly): "Aw Boo Hoo! Poor you!"<br />
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BUTLER (with subdued anger): "You are hitting a new low in making up justifications for self-pity."<br />
<br />
Now it is my turn to be angry. "No, dammit! I knew I shouldn't try and explain this. I don't feel the least bit unhappy about it. I've always had all the friends I ever wanted but I'm an introvert and I am confortable with that aspect of myself. I have friends all over the place because of blogging but if I had close friends in real life, I'd have to go and have lunch or coffee with them and, to be honest, that stuff doesn't excite me anymore. I'd rather read a book or go walking in the woods."<br />
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BAGMAN: "You're definitely crazier than I am, dude. We need to party more!"<br />
<br />
BUTLER: "Actually, Baggie, I can kind of understand him."<br />
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BAGMAN: "So what are you going to post for the shoot out, Loner-Man."<br />
<br />
"A couple of people that I considered to be "best friends" back when I was more extroverted."<br />
<br />
BAGMAN: "Yea! Booze and pot sure did extrovert you!"<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdF8DJQm0tD_eYdvbphmR8cWrFPQccLmWdBnDQGsNjFOD6STIO2xMIMzNe9RSx_kC1MV1IDcB7dTtmI7YTOWasiNRoRT1kNTOWXERL7fq9RHc-EZrl-x4Ec1q5jqG7gcGJCAT6Y1hrUoXL/s1600/70LeeArmenBsmall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdF8DJQm0tD_eYdvbphmR8cWrFPQccLmWdBnDQGsNjFOD6STIO2xMIMzNe9RSx_kC1MV1IDcB7dTtmI7YTOWasiNRoRT1kNTOWXERL7fq9RHc-EZrl-x4Ec1q5jqG7gcGJCAT6Y1hrUoXL/s400/70LeeArmenBsmall.jpg" width="270" /></a></div>
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<br />
So anyway, this is Ley Armen. We hung out together a lot in college and for a few years afterward. We followed the folk music scene in Boston -- got stoned and drunk alot -- saw Bob Dylan when people still thought he was a kind of weird because his lyrics were hard to understand. Lee and I had a pact whereby if either of us ever got stuck anywhere, we could call each other anytime and the other person would drop what they were doing and come get us unstuck. <br />
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This was Ley during a partial eclipse of the sun in Provincetown. We had a million great times together although I can't remember half of them and probably shouldn't document the other half. But Ley was also an amazing soul. He served two years as a hospital aide in lieu of service as a consciencious objector during Viet Nam. Unlike most hippies who just dodged the draft, he went straight to the recruiters and met the requirements. During spare time at the hospital overnight, he developed an amazing plan in a huge notebook -- to move into the wilderness, buy a spread of land with a steam he could use for a power source, and build a self-sufficient farm. And lo and behold, he then married one of the most beautiful women I knew, moved to Maine near the Canadian border and did it. Raised sheep, goats, chickens,and three - I think - boys. Fought bears and blizzards. We communicated for a while but drifted apart. A few years ago, I learned that he had passed away from stomach cancer. </div>
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BAGMAN: "Yeah. Ley was my kind of guy!"</div>
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Then there was</div>
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Eddie John</div>
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Eddie was the exact opposite during the same approximate time -- college and somewhat beyond. Eddie was assigned to the same dorm room in my Freshman year. During the next six or seven years, we were roommates in more apartments than I can count. I lived with Eddie in more places than any other person. Eddie was a straight-arrow, tea-totaller. He might have a beer once in a while but never tried pot. But he was also the most non-judgemental person I ever knew and never once complained or questioned my actions or behavior. Sometimes, he rolled his eyes. </div>
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BUTLER: "Yes, sir. Eddie was really my kind of guy."</div>
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Heart disease ran in his family and he died of sudden cardiac arrest before he reached 30. I spoke at his funeral. </div>
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BAGMAN: "So this is your post about best friends?! Two guys from the distant past? Both dead? And you are trying to tell us that you're not pitiful?!"</div>
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I don't bat an eye. "Yep. I'm glad they were in my life. I loved them. I miss them. But I'm perfectly happy to hang out at home either with my family or by myself."</div>
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BUTLER: "How do you bat an eye, anyway? I might have to do some research on that. </div>
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Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-945783876327380823.post-32854262293421944932012-11-28T05:04:00.002-04:002012-11-29T16:06:04.360-04:00Friday Hometown Shootout - FacesThings that look like faces...<br />
<br />
I couldn't resist this theme.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKFVF_T6Rqdm1F6bNMBRCa6HkHwK1vd6M8OO7jw6MG2XBBmG4h8JQSUYNBDIzf5GrHtEFRVmbsv-opuqdV0oSicvVQ5aVikSlGn35lZn_JhgFu36ePBgpIg-qDPm4yDZZf8lqs3EOx5nFE/s1600/tree010318.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKFVF_T6Rqdm1F6bNMBRCa6HkHwK1vd6M8OO7jw6MG2XBBmG4h8JQSUYNBDIzf5GrHtEFRVmbsv-opuqdV0oSicvVQ5aVikSlGn35lZn_JhgFu36ePBgpIg-qDPm4yDZZf8lqs3EOx5nFE/s400/tree010318.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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Head Cold</div>
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Sky nap</div>
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Eat my dust</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiozgGo_xRQtdxW0MIgSAopPe1XF5DvzRDrtGN2JsUJnAfCWS557ufFuoy8syhKulf1B_Kzjs-7sPE7q_zsa_yeiJe9kC0u9J4D-5obPb5UOynVHiVG8yhiZnTWt1oIn6lKzmKRMseIneuT/s1600/20100219_MagnoliaCemetary_0960copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="552" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiozgGo_xRQtdxW0MIgSAopPe1XF5DvzRDrtGN2JsUJnAfCWS557ufFuoy8syhKulf1B_Kzjs-7sPE7q_zsa_yeiJe9kC0u9J4D-5obPb5UOynVHiVG8yhiZnTWt1oIn6lKzmKRMseIneuT/s640/20100219_MagnoliaCemetary_0960copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Dancing Treeman</div>
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I have to confess that there was a little Photoshop manipulation with this one..</div>
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Sentinel</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgePgeP1PY1Rge3gEs6Xa-9aLDgA3ikgrwSWYL0mv50zcDYEifs-oQMlFVqxxP6HFQP6hth7kn9t7hMu2U2o8SnNciB2PVeysmuTEsQsVZTicvCoXLi56Hy7owSnNVa-ksiNknbWmNo98Wd/s1600/20120429_brookgreengarden_2304.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgePgeP1PY1Rge3gEs6Xa-9aLDgA3ikgrwSWYL0mv50zcDYEifs-oQMlFVqxxP6HFQP6hth7kn9t7hMu2U2o8SnNciB2PVeysmuTEsQsVZTicvCoXLi56Hy7owSnNVa-ksiNknbWmNo98Wd/s640/20120429_brookgreengarden_2304.jpg" width="424" /></a></div>
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Tree Glutton</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr9BYzygszzYTHMtCzyYxHe3qP3VWQ2ALnSJa9VhponbijZTB5dgqEqvdyl4lMqw6TbdXIUCuKGfzSD3mxeGTm_NukkLHhUgjANBDKMbTyVQDQEeTy2XXHVe0jg2XQmfdvUue32lkJYw0s/s1600/DSC_0032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr9BYzygszzYTHMtCzyYxHe3qP3VWQ2ALnSJa9VhponbijZTB5dgqEqvdyl4lMqw6TbdXIUCuKGfzSD3mxeGTm_NukkLHhUgjANBDKMbTyVQDQEeTy2XXHVe0jg2XQmfdvUue32lkJYw0s/s640/DSC_0032.jpg" width="418" /></a></div>
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Monk</div>
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Be afraid. Be very afraid. </div>
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Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-945783876327380823.post-22684626392373927842012-11-28T04:52:00.002-04:002012-11-28T04:52:40.426-04:00Wheeeeeeeeee!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHCO_pYobJ_0HIs2z7m3flkXt_LkJ_m0AY47z7aYHtVvCy8ptS3cQOXIGdavlLWC66jrhkHd-90HAkdWNi1n6CiAHr6CRca77WxixwKxIgPRb9PDipxDjkDzbvna92BA6z0sph5pwCpgqR/s1600/20121101_statefair_3482.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHCO_pYobJ_0HIs2z7m3flkXt_LkJ_m0AY47z7aYHtVvCy8ptS3cQOXIGdavlLWC66jrhkHd-90HAkdWNi1n6CiAHr6CRca77WxixwKxIgPRb9PDipxDjkDzbvna92BA6z0sph5pwCpgqR/s640/20121101_statefair_3482.jpg" width="512" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">BUTLER: "Nice shot, Baggie."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">BAGMAN: "I didn't post this. I thought you did."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">BUTLER: "Mark?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">BAGMAN (Starting to do his happy dance, then pausing): "Nah. We couldn't be that lucky."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">BUTLER: "Maybe we're getting through to him."</span></div>
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<br />Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-945783876327380823.post-75620144401074403202012-11-27T11:54:00.002-04:002012-11-27T11:55:39.500-04:00Take it down!!I got an email the other day about my "new blog header" and my first reaction was to utter obscenities. Unfortunately, I've been doing that more in recent months although I am pretty successful at not doing it in the vicinity of grandchildren. Or other adults for that matter. <br />
<br />
I went down to the B&B Studio and found Butler and Bagman smiling broadly with their idea for a new blog about "Days With Diggy." <br />
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"Who authorized this?" I demanded. "Take it down!"<br />
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BAGMAN (Whining): "Aw, Boss! We hoped you'd like it."<br />
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BUTLER (Lecturing): "You really need to stop fighting everything and get out more."<br />
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"Maybe," I admit. "I know that I've been a little grumpy lately..."<br />
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BAGMAN: "Grumpy? Grumpy?!? You're the poster child for Prozac! Everybody's scared of you!"<br />
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"Not the kids," I protest.<br />
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BUTLER: "You are correct there. You still have the ability to adjust your attitude and although you are grumpy around everyone else, when the kids show up, it is amazing how fast you turn into the Diggy that they know and love."<br />
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BAGMAN: "Yeah! Like yesterday when you were angry and frustrated because you thought you were going to have a free day and Noah got sick and then you had to watch both him and Kay and when they showed up you suddenly turned into Diggy again and took every pillow in the house and piled them on Noah's sick bed and turned it into a pillow house."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5WhoNbjNbXb1ABcH1FRuTMcZ4o1uSiDrsvK0PHOQjKlkvsdOAE7gi-ITCyPa3gb3P0psYytoUnU6l0YfBs0LoOGYM7UyH0DAMcgKS07jFcNK2LtGi-Q3QU4obLUaGxSxtxc-OD6eyv0SF/s1600/20121126_pillowhouse_3588.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5WhoNbjNbXb1ABcH1FRuTMcZ4o1uSiDrsvK0PHOQjKlkvsdOAE7gi-ITCyPa3gb3P0psYytoUnU6l0YfBs0LoOGYM7UyH0DAMcgKS07jFcNK2LtGi-Q3QU4obLUaGxSxtxc-OD6eyv0SF/s400/20121126_pillowhouse_3588.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
I take a deep breath. Actually it is more like a sigh. Maybe more like a resigned gutteral whiny exhalation of breath. "Yeah, well. They do smash easily through the walls of my frustration. But I'm still not ready for an entire 'Days with Diggy' blog." <br />
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BAGMAN: "Before this, you weren't blogging at all!"<br />
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"I'm just tired most of the time. And there's hardly an hour or two free. If I start something, I can't finish it."<br />
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BUTLER: "Excuse me for trying to pry you off your pity pot but you have all day today. The whole day! Nobody in the house except for you..."<br />
<br />
I glance down at my ToDo list and reply, "...and the cat which needs to be fed and litter changed, and the dog who needs to be walked. Then I need to go to the bank, the library, the grocery store, and the mall for Christmas presents. And the bills that need to be paid. The broken bureau that needs sto be fixed."<br />
<br />
BAGMAN: "Blah blah blah! You're no fun to have around anymore,"<br />
<br />
BUTLER: "You have to admit, Mark, that your attitude, to quote Bagman, sucks."<br />
<br />
"Which is exactly why I don't blog alot and why you need to take down that ridiculous header." I look at the crestfallen faces of Bagman and Butler and soften a bit. "Okay, maybe I'll try to blog occasionly if I get in a better mood. But erase it for now, okay?"<br />
<br />
I leave the B&B studio to take care of the animals and hear Butler erasing the header. Butler, of course, just runs his fingernails down the blackboard to get back at me. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-945783876327380823.post-4058910207215855492012-11-25T05:39:00.001-04:002012-11-25T05:39:06.280-04:00Days with DiggyBUTLER (stepping up to the podium which has been rented for the occasion and temporarily placed in the Butler and Bagman Studio): "It gives me great pleasure today to announce that...OW!! Ouch!! What did you do that for?!!"<br />
<br />
BAGMAN: "Liar! Liar! Pants on fire! There's no pleasure in this!"<br />
<br />
BUTLER: "Of course there is! We should have been doing this all along! We spend so much time with the grandkids, we should be focusing the post on them instead of trying to be so clever and macho all the time."<br />
<br />
BAGMAN: "You bleeping wimp! Can't you see what Mark is doing?! This is his first step to sending us to the nursing home! Everytime we start to write a great novel or post a world-class photograph, the door opens and the grandchildren show up and we spend the day watching Barney and E.T. We haven't even posted a single blog since October! Our brain is turning to mush and this is your idea of survival?!"<br />
<br />
BUTLER: "As the Bishop of Geneva, Saint Francis de Sales (1567-1622) once said, 'Bloom where you are planted'."<br />
<br />
BAGMAN: "You made that up!"<br />
<br />
BUTLER: "And Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young - 'If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with...'."<br />
<br />
BAGMAN: "Ah, yes. I remember the Newport Folk Festival, 1970. They were singing that and I looked over at this cute chick sitting next to me and smiled."<br />
<br />
BUTLER: "And she moved to another seat. Just roll with it."<br />
<br />
BAGMAN: "I still think this is a mistake. You are still going to be too busy changing diapers to have any time to blog and it will be another two months before you have time to write some cutsy story about the grandkids."<br />
<br />
BUTLER: "Well if <em>you</em> ever bothered to help out changing diapers..."<br />
<br />
BAGMAN: "I've got better things to do. And nobody wants to hear cutsy stories about grandchildren anyhow."<br />
<br />
BUTLER: "Well Mark wants to try it anyhow."<br />
<br />
BAGMAN: "Then where the hell is he anyhow?!"<br />
<br />
BUTLER: "Sleeping, of course. Noah had a fever last night and he was up most of the night."<br />
<br />
BAGMAN: "So Noah had a fever. Well that's real cute story. A real bundle of laughs. You got a picture to go with it?"<br />
<br />
BUTLER: "You're just a terminal cynic. How about yesterday was Conner was trying to teach Noah to ride a bike and...what was that?"<br />
<br />
BAGMAN: "Kay is waking up and crying. Probably needs a diaper change. See. This new blog idea is never going anywhere. Just because you're going to try and bloom with the one you're with doesn't mean you're going to have any more free time."<br />
<br />
Grumbling, Butler leaves the B&B Studio, and stumbles down the hallway to Kay's room. Bagman kicks the podium, his uncut toenails leaving a large scratch. The podium rental company will probably keep the deposit, Bagman thinks. He listens to Mark's loud snoring from downstairs then turns out the light. "I'll bet we don't post for another two months," he says to himself. Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-945783876327380823.post-9960615155873962202012-10-06T23:33:00.002-04:002012-10-06T23:33:28.099-04:00And out of long silence -- suddenly a poem
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Second Childhood</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I never expected at my age<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to be rolling <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>around on the floor like this<br />
without the need to call EMS</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">(If the people who once called me boss<br />
could see only see me now.)</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Squeals that out-wail sirens,<br />
small bodies that fly at me <br />
with pillows from the couch<br />
(where I'd prefer to be)<br />
their ecstasy in their favorite toy<br />
so animated, large,<br />
so soft and bald</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I remind myself from earlier days in another ring<br />
to protect myself at all times.<br />
I<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>wonder why I am now the one<br />
in fetal position,</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">and when they'll start to enjoy, instead, my mind,<br />
assuming it ever will function again.</span></div>
Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-945783876327380823.post-31935980421184573032012-09-25T15:04:00.000-04:002012-09-25T15:04:20.476-04:00Walking the twisty woods<span style="font-size: large;">Sadly, I haven't been going into the B&B studio much these days, but this <span style="font-family: inherit;">morning</span> I thought I'd peek in and see how bad the cobwebs are getting. I'm almost blown away by the noise!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">"Come on baby let's do the twist <br />Come on baby let's do the twist <br />Take me by my little hand and go like this <br />Ee-oh twist baby baby twist <br />Oooh-yeah just like this <br />Come on little miss and do the twist"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"> <span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">For a moment, before he notices me, I watch Bagman and Butler dancing. Bagman is flailing his arms, alternating between shaking his booty and doing some weird humping motion that would have made Chubby Checker blush. Butler's twist is a repetative series of small, perfectly timed movements that are a combination of the twist and the robot. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">But the moment they see me, they snap off the music and stand still, arms at their sides, heads down in guilt like schoolboys who have been caught doing the nasty. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"It's okay," I say, "You guys are entitled to have fun even if I haven't been myself lately."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">BAGMAN: "We were just getting ready to do a blog to cheer you up. We know how much you like walking Daisy on the trail."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">BUTLER: "Would you like to help us with the blog, sir?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">BAGMAN: "When you never even showed up for the Friday shoot, we thought you had gone forever!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Things must have gotten really bad if Butler is calling me "sir." So I decide to give it a shot. "All right," I agree. "As long as I don't have to dance."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Bagman frowns but Butler is already booting up the computer. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>The Twisty Woods</strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong><span style="font-size: large;"></span></strong> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Although I still miss our old house with the pond and don't yet feel at home in the smell of new paint, I do like the fact that there is a walking trail just beyond our backyard and I have cut a path through the pricker bushes to reach it more easily. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The trail is wide and easy to walk and meanders for a little over two miles through woods and along a quiet river lined with reeds.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">While I have become acquainted with my neighbors, I have become closer friends with the trees and discovered that they have created a fascinating development cooperating with the vines. Of course they had no choice but they seem to have adapted well to their twisty neighbors who have woven their way into their lives. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">BAGMAN: "You've forgotten how to write, haven't you, Mark."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">BUTLER: "It does seem a little stilted for you, sir."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">'Sir' again. Dang. These guys must think I've really lost it.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">BUTLER (softly): "Perhaps a picture might help?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span> </div>
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<strong>They are almost all like this</strong></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The trees enjoy the walks that Daisy and I take as least twice a day (to keep the new carpets free from poop). The trees don't even mind when Daisy lifts her leg on them which she does often even thought she is not a male dog. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I've gotten to know some of these trees pretty well. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><u>The Sentinel Siblings</u> -- An old pair, slowly dying, they still stand watch at the bend in the river and let all the others know when people are coming down the river or the path. Since I now know the password, we just salute each other as Daisy and I pass. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span> </div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><u>Gordo</u> is Bagman's favorite. You never see him move but he manages to place himself next to picnic tables in the picnic area and will steal the lunches of the unobservant. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He sings baritone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><u>Albert</u> is not as old as some of the other trees but he has the answers to any question you can think of. Butler likes him alot. If Albert doesn't know the answer to something, he will make it up. I think Butler sometimes does the same thing. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">BUTLER: "I do not!"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"At least you've stopped calling me 'sir'," I reply. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">It was Albert who confided in me that the Twisty Woods is a matriarchy and nothing of importance happens without the blessing of <u>Mama Gooch (above).</u> I always bow my head when passing her and never let Daisy near her. Bagman tried to flirt with her once and, believe me, he'll never try that again. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">BAGMAN (ignoring my comments): "I thought this was about the twist!" He begins dancing again and trying to immitate Chubby Checker.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yes, the vines. From the earliest time, Mama Gooch has ordained that trees not fight the vines but live with them in harmony. I'm not sure the local arborists agree with me but I choose to listen to Albert and Mama Gooch. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">BUTLER: "Glad to see you using words like 'arborist' again. Maybe there's hope for us yet.</span> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"></span><br />
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</span><span style="font-size: large;">Many of the middle-aged trees wear their vines with pride and decorate themselves with honor. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The partnership of vine and tree begins from earliest childhood.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Although some of the adolescent trees rebel, like teenagers always do, resulting a kind of bonsai-like struggle. Mama Gooch will straighten these punks out very quickly. Although, in tree terms, 'very quickly' can take years, according to Albert. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">But it is time to end the walk -- next time I'll show some other landmarks and tourist attactions of the woods. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">BAGMAN: "Next time!! Next time!! You mean we haven't stopped blogging!!!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Just don't push me for a schedule, Baggie." </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Fortunately, returning from the Twisty Woods when I am sometimes lost in thought, not paying attention to where I am, I can count on another tree friend to keep me in line.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><u>Officer Many Fingers</u>, proud of his Native American name, stands beside the place where I cut a path through the prickers to my backyard. He always reaches out and grabs me to keep me from wandering past the house. He has also warned me that Mama Gooch was not pleased that I cut down the prickers and is still considering disciplinary action.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">BAGMAN: "Oooh!! Oooh!! Maybe she'll use a whip and wear leather. I wanna watch!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-945783876327380823.post-3685609688344024592012-09-15T13:59:00.001-04:002012-09-15T13:59:13.185-04:00Friday Shootout - Weather<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"Whether" is more like it. </div>
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Whether I'm going to post or not. Since I missed Friday, whether to post on Saturday. Whether to just post pictures with minimal banter.</div>
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Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-945783876327380823.post-32725683875380511932012-09-07T11:28:00.000-04:002012-09-07T11:28:53.117-04:00Friday Shoot - Shallow Depth of FieldEntering the B&B studio, I ask, hopefully, "How did the stuff we shot yesterday turn out?"<br />
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BUTLER: "You don't remember how to use your camera, do you?"<br />
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"That bad, huh?" I answer, crestfallen but not surprised. It takes awhile for the eyes to remember how to look and I was also shooting quickly so I wouldn't lose sight of Daisy who was running around the trail behind our house. <br />
<br />
In fact, I paid so little attention to the camera settings -- except to put it on aperature priority (thanks, Rebecca). But I did not bother to notice that it was still set on bracketing from a month ago so that 1/3 of the shots were overexposed and 1/3 were underexposed. <br />
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BAGMAN: "I've got an old Kodak Instamatic you can use. It's in a box somewhere."<br />
<br />
I turn on the computer and look yesterday's attempts at shooting shallow depth of field and, after a moment of private greiving, delete them all. Time to turn to the archive and pull out some stuff from the good old days when I had some idea of what I was doing.<br />
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And that's about it.</div>
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BAGMAN: "What a wimpy blog, Dude! You haven't even bothered to insult me one time!."</div>
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BUTLER: "And you have not even taken the time to do something cute with your header picture."</div>
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"Give me a break, guys. At least I showed up and I wanted to save some time to look at what my friends have done with their blogs."</div>
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BUTLER: "You are going to be envious."</div>
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Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-945783876327380823.post-50767927848188564562012-09-06T00:55:00.000-04:002012-09-06T00:55:03.764-04:00Where did I put that lampshade anyway?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Not sure how I had the energy to pick up the camera.</div>
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Photoshop almost makes it look like fun. Not.</div>
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Maybe I like this copping better?</div>
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Not sure yet.</div>
Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-945783876327380823.post-13252210737898238232012-08-31T03:00:00.000-04:002012-08-31T03:00:14.440-04:00Friday Shootout - Black and White
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">BAGMAN:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"It's
about time you showed up!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You...you...you!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">BUTLER (suggesting a G-rated word for Bagman):
"Slackard?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Sorry, guys," I apologize without sincerity,
combining it with a rationalization.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"First I had to get rid of the box that Bagman had been stored in before the odor permeates the new house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I got lost trying to find the studio and
kept walking into the laundry room instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">BUTLER: "What
about the box where you kept me during the move?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">"You did a nice
job while you were in storage," I admit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Karen decided to use it to replace the wardrobe that got broken in
the move."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">BAGMAN (Glaring at
Butler): "Suck up!"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Anyhow, guys,
let's get started.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The topic for today
is black and white photos of our town."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">BAGMAN: "I'd
rather be in a box."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">Bagman leaves, Butler
puts moisturizer cream on his hands and is, therefore, useless on the computer,
so I continue without them. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">My hometown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hmmph.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I guess my real new hometown is a place called Hanahan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdSlRBvkwqZv-bE3_L33omREtu2iOk333HqMYelyz05r9wJERimSCxrh_JZYgMTQQbLzfXdhD4lA_LEt6Jab-gLo61_Z7xPQbOrQA_4LjPpxmAMmqyvsmDodRzb0ewiUUQaKT4QV5npdX6/s1600/20120829_2973.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdSlRBvkwqZv-bE3_L33omREtu2iOk333HqMYelyz05r9wJERimSCxrh_JZYgMTQQbLzfXdhD4lA_LEt6Jab-gLo61_Z7xPQbOrQA_4LjPpxmAMmqyvsmDodRzb0ewiUUQaKT4QV5npdX6/s400/20120829_2973.jpg" width="336" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">I still think of
myself as living in Charleston because it is easier to explain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We actually moved from Mount Pleasant which
is a more stuffy, fru-fru kind of suburb to Hanahan which is a more blue
collar, down to earth kind of suburb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">There are about
13,000 people in Hanahan and most of them are police officers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you mention Hanahan to anyone around here,
the first thing they say is, "Be careful not to speed."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I never know when I am driving in
Hanahan anyway because county lines and town lines in this part of South
Carolina intertwine like a bed of snakes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>People keep getting together and incorporating little towns to avoid
paying County taxes and politicians keep drawing different county lines to make
sure they contain people who will vote for them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Average people like me never know where they
are because every time I drive around a corner, I find a sign telling me I am
in another town.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjwGOINLFJUMT1B9iZrIhnUhyetZhhTMBKdN7s_lWPARz-OVGER555XmI4gWaq9Wh7ZqiPT-xreugpFSV5lTOnrZ1QWca3Wa7MWRDFvkt2aTmkMK43cPUpZb4AxE6VTM_R5ewo6A8n6im3/s1600/20120829_2975.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjwGOINLFJUMT1B9iZrIhnUhyetZhhTMBKdN7s_lWPARz-OVGER555XmI4gWaq9Wh7ZqiPT-xreugpFSV5lTOnrZ1QWca3Wa7MWRDFvkt2aTmkMK43cPUpZb4AxE6VTM_R5ewo6A8n6im3/s400/20120829_2975.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">Revenue (probably
more from traffic fines than taxes) has built a fairly nice municipal building
which includes everything -- administrator, mayor, police, fire, court -- one
stop shopping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivvpbdy49WLf0TGafGaXFmMeWi3m1PWz0LGz8nnWMgxT02t6kTHK7yeWc4cWnBqmMLOIBeT37kdvcQYkOHfbp41r_YFcVkvRnzXtk55OA27eVHsYMnplLBPQPIniocqxkTMibLm3m3m9jv/s1600/20120829_hanahancityhall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivvpbdy49WLf0TGafGaXFmMeWi3m1PWz0LGz8nnWMgxT02t6kTHK7yeWc4cWnBqmMLOIBeT37kdvcQYkOHfbp41r_YFcVkvRnzXtk55OA27eVHsYMnplLBPQPIniocqxkTMibLm3m3m9jv/s640/20120829_hanahancityhall.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">The official town
seal consists of a heron under a tree although, so far, I have seen no herons
since I left Mount Pleasant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have seen
some trees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRb7XDo-HIvD2mQ0-S4I0ThbfyOA7FmFe1vU7ZEtkkHv-C2fE52Lanp0Ls3vBGW2ybgaJIzpU0L32CauhQL72y0S3pS4F_s3RlTexcMsYuOYsHxMN-Bb7qgAiDLsWfl1Z6u5nDTgO-4Kw1/s1600/20120829_2981bw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRb7XDo-HIvD2mQ0-S4I0ThbfyOA7FmFe1vU7ZEtkkHv-C2fE52Lanp0Ls3vBGW2ybgaJIzpU0L32CauhQL72y0S3pS4F_s3RlTexcMsYuOYsHxMN-Bb7qgAiDLsWfl1Z6u5nDTgO-4Kw1/s400/20120829_2981bw.jpg" width="247" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><o:p></o:p></span></span> </div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">The seal also says
"Circa 1973" which means, I assume that the town incorporated
sometime around 1973 -- don't they know the actual date?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4HmwzIp6QStFBZ4Fa4SVssXJ4R_hctl5g6caQj_LODknX1TPzSBUmzH-uViMfuNlRAR7uVZEgIyWeZ2y_mxEvi1MR8oddkKRR0oNdqJiAJIbiQ2Q120RtEr9sgICxIbnL0EHvTZ4iXSyY/s1600/20120829_2985.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4HmwzIp6QStFBZ4Fa4SVssXJ4R_hctl5g6caQj_LODknX1TPzSBUmzH-uViMfuNlRAR7uVZEgIyWeZ2y_mxEvi1MR8oddkKRR0oNdqJiAJIbiQ2Q120RtEr9sgICxIbnL0EHvTZ4iXSyY/s400/20120829_2985.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">I try to think of
something else to say but Butler pokes his head in the door.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">BUTLER:
"Bagman's gone into another box!"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Damn!" I
exclaim, realizing that I've been cursing more than usual, lately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Doesn't he know where the bathrooms are
in the new house?!"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">We rush off to get
him and as we run, I realize that I'm not sure where the bathrooms are either. <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-945783876327380823.post-43767819037965590702012-08-29T09:17:00.000-04:002012-08-29T09:17:01.819-04:00360 degree erectionAt least I've figured out which of the 2,346 boxes Bagman got packed into. When I wrote the title for this blog, I heard faint snickering from a box marked: "boots, underwear, misc. bedroom stuff." I'm still looking for Butler but suspect he is in one of the kitchen boxes, probably polishing silverware while he waits to be unpacked.<br />
<br />
But despite Bagman's snicker, the title will be disappointing to strangers browsing for suggestive blogs. <br />
<br />
What follows is an 8-month series of 360 degree panoramas shot from approximately the same place as we humans took over another parcel of space from nature.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSAOvanIRKJEGwPfsHkY_9qSTm6RAt_JuZAytNt85GSCdlkpajIWqSiDkcFEaIr6ISRAMp_iFVu8_PMmUj3k_TfH3gLLrKfxbw_An0zO7auTmRW9lCDBpjXHWip5P9G_nBlx4UGIYr-t6W/s1600/20120112_1135.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSAOvanIRKJEGwPfsHkY_9qSTm6RAt_JuZAytNt85GSCdlkpajIWqSiDkcFEaIr6ISRAMp_iFVu8_PMmUj3k_TfH3gLLrKfxbw_An0zO7auTmRW9lCDBpjXHWip5P9G_nBlx4UGIYr-t6W/s400/20120112_1135.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Not 360</div>
<br />
I wish I had thought about it on the first day we saw the parcel -- when nature still owned it -- but I didn't start my periodic exercises until the <strike>mercenaries</strike> contractors had already cleared the land.<br />
<br />
Anyhow, it was kind of fun doing it even though for several months I really thought it would never become reality since our old house just sat on the market like roadkill. And I think I entertained the guys who were actually building the house when I would show up, walk resolutely into the middle of the site and stand, rotating slowly, clicking 10 to 12 shots as I turned. I'd always grin, wave, and yell, "How ya doing?" They'd always grin back and call out something that sounded like, "Ay ay, el gringo loco!"<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkQaSdLBKixzhR-QNXC2u68tlAcpzDpAZkUDAzs3aSmWmVcMuk8lHtn0VEfHEvzGGeJElMDBWPCO8YL6-L5A4lCUy0SbO3hTdE0xIvv9Ig2B8oPb9LTqcMFhM6i90Zt88TD9J5z-wMURi_/s1600/series8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="70" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkQaSdLBKixzhR-QNXC2u68tlAcpzDpAZkUDAzs3aSmWmVcMuk8lHtn0VEfHEvzGGeJElMDBWPCO8YL6-L5A4lCUy0SbO3hTdE0xIvv9Ig2B8oPb9LTqcMFhM6i90Zt88TD9J5z-wMURi_/s400/series8.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I was going to wait for the last shot until everything was neat and tidy and pictures were hung on the walls but I realized that "neat and tidy" was never going to happen anyway and there really wasn't that much wallspace.</div>
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For now, I'm spending my time standing in the middle of this area turning in circles. Not taking pictures...just turning in circles. </div>
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Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-945783876327380823.post-61518662273286597592012-08-27T14:27:00.002-04:002012-08-27T14:27:27.905-04:00GASP!! GASP!! Cought, sputter, flail!!!Like a drowning man suddenly breaking the surface!<br />
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We have moved after what multiple screw-ups whcih might have made a great series of blogs if my sense of humor hadn't deserted me for most of it -- and I have Internet as of ten minutes ago.<br />
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But don't know what to do with it...<br />
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I've developed such a defensive, grumpy, emotionally traumatized shell of "who needs the @$%#ing Internet anyhow"<br />
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Plus we're not even completely unpacked yet.<br />
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I guess I'll recover slowly. Sometime I might even take out my camera. What I really want to do is take a nap. <br />
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<br />Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-945783876327380823.post-69398426213323622512012-08-06T09:39:00.001-04:002012-08-06T09:39:40.869-04:00Waiting for GodotGroundhog Day. 101 First Dates (or whatever the number was).<br />
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Another day of waiting, wondering if we'll ever move...</div>
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On the other hand it is a bit like a vacation. A very tiny bit. </div>Bagman and Butlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06760203276065466927noreply@blogger.com9