Head Trips


but great fun all the same.

This is getting a bit embarrassing, though. I take, take, take* the pictures, but am lax at posting them. No more empty promises. No more try. It’s do or do not. I did see the Batmobile painted on the Corvette shed on the way out. Lots of smokies, too**.

* reference to the Seinfeld episode with the rental car reservation, which links to
** the Seinfeld episode that was mentioned in a recent Tribune article about the cashing in of returnable cans and bottles in a state where they weren’t bought (namely, trying to get 10 cents for 5 cent returnables)

But who am I to blow against the wind?

How many of your friends over forty years-old are asked to present proof-of-age when ordering an alcoholic beverage in a public establishment?

I know, I told him he should feel flattered, too!

BBQ sauce works fine, paired with mustard, on a hot-diggity-dog, when neither onions, sauerkraut, or pickles are particularly appealing. (Rare instance, I know…)

A ketchup (catsup?!) dispenser should not be based on dollops, unless it is aimed at little tubs used for dipping.

An aside: In the past, I found it utterly appalling when some restaurants would refill Heinz bottles with inferior imitations. As if I can’t tell . . .

Oh–and I just brought back the whole, “momentum,” commentary for my sportscaster-in-training gigs. It’s been absent for far too long!

And he was in the right place at the right time:

Delayed documentation of foul ball and its retriever

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Originally uploaded by przybysz.

Before we set out on the adventure, I knew we’d need reservations, if we hoped to stay here.

I’d also read up enough to know that the units were furnished with original hand-crafted wood furniture, and kept in decent shape, contemporaneously.

Skeptics remained.

Now, I continue to quote songs by Kermit, “I’m going to go back there someday…”

(There was a great Studebaker pick-up truck among the vintage automobiles on the premises — an obvious sign of welcome.)

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Originally uploaded by przybysz.

I always tend to yield to dog sleds–regardless of signs reminding me to do so.

Also, some of my simpler pictures seem to come out off-center, or with a different framing than I intended (even when using LCD as viewfinder). Usually, this is a direct result of my balance pulling a whammy and my body taking a dip, or at least I have the luxury of being able to blame such things on missing vestibular nerves. It took me over a week to decide whether I was worthy, or potentially worthy, of having “Pro,” by my flickr name. I was quite certain that most of the users tended to admire and/or use manual settings on their cameras, and though I may sometimes be a hoser, I am not a poser.

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Originally uploaded by przybysz.

The picture of the park’s beautiful welcoming sign was blurred and unreadable*, but this seemed like a viable alternative.

You just don’t see many nice horseshoe pits these days. If you look closely in the foliage, there’s some wildlife. Nothing as huge as the snake we’d later encounter on the trail**, but kind of neat how it tries to get into people’s pictures by hanging around the more famous horseshoe playing arena. I, too, was surprised to find there were no paid advertisements on the boards. Score one for the State Parks!

* It still takes me a bit, each time I take out my camera, to get into my groove, and I’m still reluctant about pestering others to stop, for the sake of me taking yet another picture. I don’t mind showing many of my goofs, but it depends on my mood as to what gets uploaded.

** Or at least it looks threatening when casually viewed, and with the knowledge that the trail had giant clovers and grasses on it!

711.

Or maybe it’s a red light. But I like moonlight better.

Final cut’s on paper.

Practice makes…

Over the weekend, I was in the position of having one of the finest compliments paid to me, after an illustrious–though unplanned–performance:

“You really know how to fall. That was awesome!”

“Thanks. When I realized there was no stopping it, I just gave in to it, and tried to make it artsy. I’m glad someone was watching to appreciate it! Maybe I should reconstruct it so we can get it on film.”

Time elapsed in such a way that, between realizing only one leg went with my torso, and that I’d surpassed my center of gravity, I had enough time to keep my head together, enough to keep it from bouncing off the pavement, as my body eventually–and most certainly–merged with motor oil and concrete, in a prone position.

I’m quite pleased it worked–and I scored style points, as well. Who knew the strap of such a colorful and versatile bookbag could be such a hazard?

Diving, sliding, falling… all the same once you give into them and enjoy the sensation that comes while experiencing them. (Nevermind any lingering pains afterwards–for they can be remedied by ingesting mass quantities of perfectly-roasted marshmallows, as long as one’s survived an incident.)

(This is great, though, as my Guadalupe River scar has disappeared on that leg, and I was lamenting the loss last week.)

Btw, I learned that Jeep owners/drivers, like truckers and drivers in the Outback of Queensland, do a wave when driving by one another in opposite directions, but my informant refused to share the most authentic wave with me, claiming that there isn’t one (with a vaguely discernible and menacing wink). Rather than resort to violence to learn a secret I may not be prepared to guard, I decided that Jeep shotgun riders should most definitely do a two-arms-up-and-flailing thing when the top’s down. Believe me–it just feels right.

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