tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59413432024-03-28T17:40:26.209-05:00Fearful SymmetriesWitness a machine turn coffee into pointless ramblings...Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger5445125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5941343.post-61757378804238888502024-03-28T09:38:00.000-05:002024-03-28T09:38:20.563-05:00The Corona Diaries Vol. 108: That file powder isn't going to use itself<p>(early September 2023)</p><p>(Listen to the <a href="https://powervoyeur.blogspot.com/2024/03/the-corona-diaries-vol-108-prelude.html">prelude</a>.)</p><p>The day after <a href="https://powervoyeur.blogspot.com/2024/03/the-corona-diaries-vol-107-scratching.html">our trek out to Heartland Farm</a>, the Frau and I went out to the North Side Farmers Market on yet another overcast day. It and the Monona Farmers Market, which we visit sometimes as well, don't have the spectacle or variety of the Dane County Farmers Market, but they do have the virtue of being less crowded. It's more easy going so I don't feel rushed and I never get that Orwellian feeling that there are people behind me surreptitiously looking over my shoulder at the same bunch of arugula that I am eyeing up.<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/nsfm-20230827-2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="411" data-original-width="650" height="326" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/nsfm-20230827-2.jpg" width="516" /></a></div><p></p><p>The fall harvest season is in full swing and the stands were overflowing with nature’s bounty. I am not sure how many vendors grow in a greenhouse but I suspect it's few to none. These vegetables are genuinely seasonal, I'd bet.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/nsfm-20230827-3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="376" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/nsfm-20230827-3.jpg" width="501" /></a></div><p></p><p>It is prime eatin’ time! I know that with California, Florida, cargo planes, and whatnot, my supermarket will always have fresh produce available. But I still love the notion that I am eating something that popped out of the ground ripe not too long ago and was grown by, if not exactly a neighbor, then by someone who at least lives in the same county I do. And that the vegetables weren't grown and picked in some kind of <i>Harvest of Shame</i> scenario.</p><p>While not everyone at the stands at the farmers markets are farmers, you do run into one occasionally. Look at their hands. Are they calloused? Or all delicate like mine from typing and mousing for a living? There is something rather neat about buying food from the person who produced it, who got their hands dirty from digging in the earth or from delivering a calf. I realize that cities have throughout history depended on rural areas to feed them (and rural areas on cities to buy their food) but there's just something more genuine and fulfilling about buying tomatoes at the farmers market from a farm 10 miles away than ones grown in California or Peru or wherever the ones at the supermarket are from. Plus, the local ones are actually ripe, more flavorful, and pesticide-free.<br /></p><p>While harvest festivals these days are more about local farmers having a good crop and being able to stave off creditors instead of a town celebrating that it won't starve over the winter, I still love them. For me, they are, amongst other things, a reminder that food doesn't just magically appear on the supermarket shelf. <br /></p><p>Now, aren't these colors are just wonderful?<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/nsfm-20230827-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="398" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/nsfm-20230827-1.jpg" width="530" /></a></div><p></p><p>I think those little things in the husks are ground cherries. Never having had them, I was intrigued.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/nsfm-20230827-5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="387" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/nsfm-20230827-5.jpg" width="515" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/nsfm-20230827-4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="392" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/nsfm-20230827-4.jpg" width="522" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/nsfm-20230827-6.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="390" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/nsfm-20230827-6.jpg" width="519" /></a></div><p></p><p>Look at those lovely flowers!</p><p>It’s scenes like these that make me wish I had a green thumb. Even more satisfying than buying chilies from the farmer who grew them is harvesting ones you grow yourself.<br /></p><p>In addition to all of the colors, there were the smells, including some mighty fine aromas coming from this stand selling Afghani food.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/nsfm-20230827-7.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="500" height="475" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/nsfm-20230827-7.jpg" width="356" /></a></div><p></p><p>I bought a couple of those samosa-like stuffed pastry thingies. They were delicious!</p><p>The allure and (some of the) aroma of New Orleans drew me to this stand. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/nsfm-20230827-8.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="369" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/nsfm-20230827-8.jpg" width="492" /></a></div><p></p><p><a href="https://www.facebook.com/RueBourre/">Rue Bourre</a> is a restaurant in-progress owned, I believe, by a couple from Louisiana. It is to open on the east side not too far from us and not far off the path from Acewood Park so it could become a post-hike lunch location. In the meantime, they’re at the farmers market with warm beignets and chicory coffee along with containers of frozen gumbo and jambalaya. I like gumbo. I like jambalaya. And so I brought some of each home with me. That gumbo file on my spice rack isn't going to use itself, after all.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/nsfm-20230827-9.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="388" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/nsfm-20230827-9.jpg" width="517" /></a></div><p></p><p>I’ve had various preparations of gumbo over the years. Some were soup-like with a thin broth meaning little to no roux and I was simply incredulous at bowls of these gumbos. I have always been told that, when it comes to Cajun cooking, “First you start with a roux.” (I am not qualified to engage in a debate about the role of okra in making a gumbo a gumbo. However, I was once told by a resident of Houma, Louisiana with a very pronounced Cajun accent giving him a voice of authority that a gumbo with no okra is not gumbo.)<br /></p><p>Others had an abundance of roux and were thick.</p><p>Rue Bourre splits the difference. The broth has clearly consummated its relationship with the roux but it isn’t stew-like. And it tastes positively toothsome! You’ve got those tasty Maillard reactions from the roux, porcine andouille goodness, the Holy Trinity, thyme, bay – this is great gumbo.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/nsfm-20230827-10.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="365" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/nsfm-20230827-10.jpg" width="486" /></a></div><p></p><p>While I enjoyed the jambalaya, it tasted odd to me because it had no tomato and I am used to jambalaya having tomato in it. That acidic fruitiness cuts the starchy-grainy onslaught of the rice in a pleasing way. Good but not great.</p><p>I also bought some corn and cooked it the next day on the grill along with some fish.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/grill-20230828-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="500" height="586" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/grill-20230828-1.jpg" width="439" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/grill-20230828-2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="384" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/grill-20230828-2.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><p></p><p>I love grilled corn! While I may not eat particularly seasonally, I look forward to indulging in fresh sweet corn every August.</p><p style="text-align: center;">********</p><p>A few days later, my Frau went up north to attend a wedding so it was just me and the cats. Our eldest, Grabby (a.k.a. – Marilyn) wasn’t feeling well. She was diagnosed with intestinal issues back in 2020, if memory serves. Likely lymphoma, according to the vet. After the diagnosis, she was put on steroids and had been doing well. Occasionally, she’d have a bad couple of days but then whatever it was would pass before long and she’d be back to eating twice her weight in food every day and more spry than most 10 year-old cats, much less ones her age, 16-17.</p><p>I kept an eye on Grabby and gave Piper extra treats. Grabby was accustomed to sitting on my Frau’s lap and sleeping on her hip at night. With the usual relaxation spots gone, I got some extra lap time with her which was really nice because I was worried about her. Would she get better? Had her time come?<br /></p><p>One morning I drove out to <a href="https://parks-lwrd.countyofdane.com/NaturalResourceArea/PhilsWoods">Phil's Woods</a>, a county natural area west of Madison, to take a hike. It’s nestled in the hills dotted with farms that mark the beginning of the Driftless Area.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/philswoods-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="369" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/philswoods-1.jpg" width="491" /></a></div><p></p><p>The Phil in the name refers to Philip LaFollette, son of "Fighting Bob" La Follette. The progressive firebrand represented Wisconsin in Congress as a Representative and a Senator as well as being our governor. His son followed in his footsteps as Phil served as governor of our fair state for three terms. After his death, his widow donated the land.</p><p>The county parks website says the plot was too small to be a state park. So, while it wouldn’t be a long walk, it would provide some beautiful scenery. I hit the path.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/philswoods-2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="500" height="496" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/philswoods-2.jpg" width="372" /></a></div><p></p><p>The trail was hilly but nothing too steep.</p><p>At one point, the trail brought me to a corn field and skirted it along one side.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/philswoods-3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="375" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/philswoods-3.jpg" width="500" /></a></div><p></p><p>As I continued, I came to another corn field just as the sun had risen above the tree line. It was simply gorgeous out. A blue sky filled with puffy clouds looked down as a layer of gold settled on the trees.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/philswoods-4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="393" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/philswoods-4.jpg" width="524" /></a></div><p></p><p>There was a bench along the trail here looking north towards the bluffs of Baraboo some 15 or so miles in the distance. However, they were not visible owing to the tree canopies. I guess a return trip in the fall or next spring is in order.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/philswoods-6.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="405" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/philswoods-6.jpg" width="539" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/philswoods-5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="394" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/philswoods-5.jpg" width="525" /></a></div><p></p><p>All too soon, my short hike was over. It was mid-morning and I drove the backroads home to enjoy the scenery and slower pace.</p><p>When I walked in the door, I didn’t see either of the cats and so I sought out Grabby to check in and found her lying on a bed. She was listless and I noticed that her food dish, normally licked clean, didn't appear to have been touched. Since she’d been this way for 2 or 3 days, I decided to bring her to the vet to see what was up.</p><p style="text-align: center;">********</p><p>Bonus photo. Here’s a picture of the hazy sky from last month. Not only was the sun dimmed by all that smoke from Canada, the air smelled of it too. It brought back that apocalyptic feeling from a few years back during lockdown when it seemed like we were doomed to feel nature's wrath.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/am-haze.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="594" data-original-width="625" height="487" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/am-haze.jpg" width="512" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5941343.post-77277169070714451672024-03-27T09:36:00.000-05:002024-03-27T09:36:07.962-05:00IMAX in Fitchburg to show a documentary once again<p>Just about a year ago <a href="https://powervoyeur.blogspot.com/2023/04/dear-amc.html">I lamented</a> that the IMAX screen at AMC in Fitchburg no longer shows documentaries like it used to, back when it was Star.</p><p>Well, I have discovered that this is about to change as <i><a href="https://www.imax.com/movie/deep-sky">Deep Sky</a></i> opens on 19 April.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/deepsky-imax.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="532" data-original-width="769" height="372" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/deepsky-imax.JPG" width="538" /></a></div><p></p><p>"<i>Deep Sky</i> brings the awe-inspiring images captured by NASA's Webb Telescope to IMAX® — taking audiences on a journey to the beginning of time and space, to never-before-seen cosmic landscapes, and to recently discovered exoplanets, planets around other stars."</p><p>I'm glad to see that a documentary will screen on the IMAX here, even if it's a one-off.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5941343.post-44035041505136802632024-03-25T09:44:00.000-05:002024-03-25T09:44:17.823-05:00The Corona Diaries Vol. 108 - Prelude: Jambalaya<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="407" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/PgEZ3Xl7BSY" width="489" youtube-src-id="PgEZ3Xl7BSY"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5941343.post-55341090387877631322024-03-22T14:31:00.000-05:002024-03-22T14:31:08.962-05:00A Glorious Time at the Sleepytime Gorilla Museum<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/sgm-poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="650" height="278" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/sgm-poster.jpg" width="532" /></a></div><p></p><p>Last week I ventured down to <a href="https://lh-st.com/">Lincoln Hall</a> in Chicago to see <a href="https://www.facebook.com/sleepytimegorillamuseum/">Sleepytime Gorilla Museum</a>. I'd been aware of SGM for 15+ years but only ever ventured to listen to song or two every once in a while. I have no recollection of how I'd heard of them and I suspect that my first listen to their avant-rock, Zeuhl, or whatever genre you think best classifies their music proved to be a bit more than I could chew and so I put investigating them further on indefinite hold.</p><p><a href="https://youtu.be/0cC-yYIaoCg">They played here in Madison</a> in 2010 and I have conflicting memories that explain why I didn't attend. One is that I only found out about their stop at Memorial Union until days later while another is that I hemmed and hawed and finally opted out.</p><p>I had no idea that they'd called it quits in 2011 when I read earlier this year that they had reunited and were going on tour once more with the closest stop in Chicago. And so I made the trek down to Lincoln Park on a Wednesday evening.<br /></p><p>Two Chicago bands opened - Cheer-Accident and Dead Rider.</p><p><a href="https://www.cheer-accident.com/">Cheer-Accident</a> are veterans of the Chicago music scene having been around since the mid-80s or thereabouts. Led by drummer/singer Thymme Jones, I got some Magma vibes, at first. But they were quickly dispelled as the horns kicked in with a blast of something vaguely like you'd get from a marching band to send the opening tune on a tangent as the band showed it was willing to throw in every twist and turn they could with a dose of lighthearted silliness that drew Madison legends The Gomers to mind. A million miles from that Coltrane/Orff-laced hybrid from France. Jones is a fine drummer and he seemed to play just behind the beat on the first couple songs which gives you that "something's not quite right here" feeling. Good stuff.<br /></p><p><a href="https://www.facebook.com/deadrider.us/">Dead Rider</a> were in a sense even odder in that guitarist/singer Todd Rittmann almost rapped once or twice and songs alternated between those with Rittmann playing some more straight forward licks with a flying-V bringing Wishbone Ash to mind and songs with a heavy synthesized rhythm track. I enjoyed their set but talk about contrasts!</p><p>Sleepytime Gorilla Museum took the stage in costume with a few of the members donning face paint. I am only slightly more familiar with their music now than when I was at the show. Very slightly. But I was thrilled when they played "Phthisis", one of 2 or 3 of their songs that I actually know. While there were moments of peace with a bucolic sounding flute adding mellow vibes, most of the time these folks were rocking hard. King Crimson came to mind a lot, especially "THRAK" with those chopping guitars.</p><p>Nils Frykdahl sang and played guitar and flute and perhaps other things too. His singing had the dramatics and piercing intensity of Peter Hammill but he often took it into overdrive with an almost black metal growl. Carla Kihlstedt played mostly violin, often in sharp, angular bursts, but her voice was clear and angelic (even if that angel was sometimes a vengeful one), not unlike Jon Anderson's, in contrast to Frykdahl's and the opposing styles proved oddly harmonious.</p><p>For one song, Dan Rathbun, who looked uncannily like the cartoon Egon Spengler, played what looked like an oversized pedal steel guitar but I think it was a homebrew thing consisting of a 2"x4" about 8 feet long with strings running the length and some C clamps acting as capos. Kihlstedt had a smaller version and they both seemed to alternate sliding drumsticks along the strings and hitting them as if their instruments were piano viscera wrenched from the case.</p><p>Michael Iago Mellender is the utility player here as he played guitar, xylophone, keyboards, trumpet, a small drum kit, if I recall correctly. The mid-90s King Crimson vibe was made even stronger when he played his kit. He definitely did his part in giving them a big, dense sound. But I have to admit that I had a hard time not watching drummer Matthias Bossi. The guy's playing was just amazing.</p><p>Actually, all 3 drummers that night were great but I got to hear and see Bossi the longest. And he had the biggest kit. He drove songs ahead with his energetic playing yet managed to deftly slip in these great little fills which would often lead the song off in a totally different direction. Bossi's playing was absolutely frenetic, even maniacal at times, and I just loved watching him and wondering what he'd slip in or where he'd go next. Plus he had a splash cymbal. I love me some splash!<br /></p><p>As noted above, I am still very much getting to know SGM and their aggressively controlled chaos. Their music is heavy and I adore the drama of it all. There's an operatic quality to it, if we're talking about an opera based on the Book of Revelation.</p><p>Their entire performance was recorded on video:</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="378" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/DGVVJ8jRxF4" width="454" youtube-src-id="DGVVJ8jRxF4"></iframe></div><br />Cheer-Accident's set was also captured:<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="376" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/vvawrCO81yo" width="452" youtube-src-id="vvawrCO81yo"></iframe></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="380" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/HUhW1ujjqac" width="457" youtube-src-id="HUhW1ujjqac"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5941343.post-44451263419851675192024-03-22T12:34:00.000-05:002024-03-22T12:34:30.808-05:00One day she was on the ground<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/yolo-poster.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="579" data-original-width="400" height="422" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/yolo-poster.jpg" width="292" /></a></div><p></p><p>Earlier this week I went to catch <i>Yolo</i> at the cinema. It's a Chinese movie that, I learned towards the end of the credits, is a remake of a 2014 Japanese movie called <i>100 Yen Love</i>. <i>Yolo</i> has been doing very good box office in its home country, if not worldwide, and this probably explains how it ended up here in Madison.</p><p>The movie is a <i>Bildungsfilm, </i>I guess you<i> </i>could say,<i> </i>which chronicles the transformation of Du Leying, a woman in her early 30s, from an overweight slacker into a lean, mean boxing machine whose motto is <i>carpe diem</i>.</p><p>When the story opens, we find her sleeping, something she does most of the time, apparently. Unemployed and living at home, Leying has basically retreated from life into a shell. We witness her and her sister get into a fight and Leying leaves home out of spite. She gets a job at a barbecue restaurant and rents an apartment that is, shall we say, not the height of luxury. Then one day she accidentally runs into a trainer from a local boxing gym named Hao Kun and they eventually become romantically involved.</p><p>And so the first part of the movie is a romantic comedy with Hao Kun's interest slowly luring Leying into the gym and out of her shell.</p><p>With some help from his new ladyfriend behind the scenes, Hao Kun ends up at the city championship bout. However, when Leying goes into the locker room, she discovers that he has taken a large amount of money to throw the match. When she confronts him saying that he can win and that he shouldn't take the money and retire from the sport as he plans, Hao Kun becomes distraught, angry, and defensive. He eventually tells Leying that their relationship is over.</p><p>Seeing Hao Kun give up inspires Leying to engage with life even more. She vows to win at least once in her life. To this end, she trains for the next year, losing a lot of weight. After becoming a lean, mean fighting machine, she enters a match with an experienced professional. Although she loses the bout, Leying feels good about herself for finally having accomplished and won something in her life.</p><p>This romantic comedy cum Ugly Duckling/<i>Rocky </i>inspirational drama was fun overall. There were genuine laughs to be had and largely not cheap ones about Leying's weight. Director Jia Ling also stars as Leying and she apparently put on weight and then lost about 100 pounds for the role. There were 3 young women sitting down the row from me and I think they were Chinese as they laughed at times when I felt mildly confused about a Chinese cultural reference. There weren't many of these instances and I don't feel like I missed anything important - just a few jokes.<br /></p><p>The <i>Rocky</i> theme was used during the weight loss/training montage which I felt was longer than it would have been in an American movie. There were a couple more montages that seemed to be twice as long as I'd expect from a similar domestic flick. Plus, there was the scene where Leying leaves the locker room in slow motion and walks down a hallway towards the ring for the final match. She looks at the windows that line one side of the hall which reflect her image but she sees her weightier self. Not just a couple times but lots and lots. That slo-mo walk was a short film in itself. I wonder if this common in Chinese cinema or a stylistic choice particular to the director and editor(s).</p><p><i>Yolo</i> tread a lot of familiar ground and I wouldn't have gone to see it if it was an American flick. Still, I appreciated that Leying and Hao Kun didn't live happily ever after and that she didn't manage some hyper-unrealistic come from behind victory in the ring against that professional pugilist. But she was victorious despite all that. She stopped floating down the river of life and started steering her own course.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="379" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/FDLphyA2wDQ" width="456" youtube-src-id="FDLphyA2wDQ"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5941343.post-60787609156614357562024-03-22T08:54:00.000-05:002024-03-22T08:54:07.053-05:00The Corona Diaries Vol. 107 - Postlude: Barnyard Therapy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(Read entry <a href="https://powervoyeur.blogspot.com/2024/03/the-corona-diaries-vol-107-scratching.html">#107</a>.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="402" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/zlybNwDRtC8" width="483" youtube-src-id="zlybNwDRtC8"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5941343.post-71049115914545488492024-03-21T13:48:00.001-05:002024-03-21T13:48:15.953-05:00The Corona Diaries Vol. 107: Scratching a pig's tummy is more potent then even Calgon<p>(late-August 2023)</p><p>(Listen to the <a href="https://powervoyeur.blogspot.com/2024/03/the-corona-diaries-vol-107-prelude-down.html">prelude</a>.)</p><p>It seems long ago now that Anthony Fauci was on TV everyday reassuring us that all we needed to do remain safe and sound from the novel coronavirus going around was for us to get vaccinated, wear masks, and isolate ourselves. This was just under four years ago yet the lockdowns seem so far away in my mind.</p><p>As you may recall me writing then, <a href="https://powervoyeur.blogspot.com/2020/12/the-corona-diaries-3-life-on-inside.html">I started my workdays</a> during that harrowing time by watching short videos on Twitter from <a href="https://www.caenhillcc.org.uk/">Caenhill Countryside Centre</a> over in the UK featuring the morning rush hour from the farm. Caenhill is a farm for rescue animals and Farmer Chris Franklin would take video of a barn door being opened every morning. He would cry "Greetings and good morning and sometimes goodnight" and let slip a hungry horde of ducks, chickens, ostriches, sheep, donkeys, etc. which would stream out into the barnyard looking to break their fasts.<br /></p><p>These videos were a lovely, heartwarming way to start my workdays. All of those creatures with whom we share this planet with were cute and often times funny and the scenes were just the opposite of life in lockdown. There was no social distancing, no fighting over toilet paper, nobody losing a job, no one protesting mask or vaccine mandates. Just the bucolic English countryside and some hungry farm animals oblivious to human anxiety. What care does a farm cat writhing in the grass have? With death or, at least the threat of it, seemingly all around us, it was wonderful to have 2 minutes every morning set aside for something more life-affirming.</p><p>Our two cats, Grabby and Piper, did a fine job of satisfying our desire for animal company but I still thought it would be neat to visit Caenhill. Since that was impossible, I wondered if there was such a farm a bit closer to home and discovered that indeed there was – <a href="https://heartlandfarmsanctuary.org/">Heartland Farm Sanctuary</a>. But, as with every “non-essential” place, it was not accepting visitors. And so paying a visit got put on my to-do list where it sat for 3 or 4 years. Until now.</p><p>The farm is a bit south of Madison and just east of the town of Stoughton so it was a fairly short drive from home. The sky was cloudy making it rather temperate out which was fine by me. Barns do not smell particularly pleasing when it’s below freezing much less an 80+ degree day when things are quite, shall we say, aromatic. So I counted us lucky.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-16.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="377" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-16.jpg" width="503" /></a></div><p></p><p>We met our guide in the gift shop and poked around the t-shirts, refrigerator magnets, and whatnot for a little while as we waited to see if anyone else was going to show up to join us on the tour. No one did so the guide, a woman whose name I must admit I do not recall, gave us her introductory speech which outlined the history of the farm, including its recent move from rural Verona (to the west a bit) to its current home. We were also given an idea of what to expect on the tour: being animals, some of whom have come from rather poor living conditions or otherwise suffered at the hands of a human, they may want nothing to do with us; animals poop and pee wherever they feel like it, etc.<br /></p><p>The tour began just across the yard with the chicken coop where a couple of fowl friends awaited us.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-01.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="470" data-original-width="650" height="400" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-01.jpg" width="553" /></a></div><p></p><p>Our guide explained where they had acquired the chickens as well as some of the other animals. The specifics of the chickens are lost to me but I recall her saying that one of the pigs was rescued after the pen it was in fell off a truck on the highway. Sometimes when animal owners die, their families don’t want the animals and they’re sent to slaughter. But occasionally a family member or friend intervenes and suggests the animals go to a rescue farm such as Heartland instead of being put down.</p><p>I believe that one or more of the chickens came to Heartland via that route.</p><p>Here’s a turkey.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-02.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="405" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-02.jpg" width="539" /></a></div><p></p><p>Most of, if not all, the animals were unwanted by their previous owners but, at Heartland, they were given a loving home where they could live out their lives in comfort. Some were just going to be a burden while others were sick or injured. But here the sick and injured are nursed back to health and tended to by a crew of dedicated caretakers, many of whom are volunteers.</p><p>Here's the area behind the coops. Or was it behind the barn that the ducks and geese called home?<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-03.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="417" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-03.jpg" width="555" /></a></div><p></p><p>Still in the bird section of the farm, we spied emus off on the far side of the yard. Emus look funny to me as they have this head that is tiny compared with the size of the rest of their bodies. But I think there's enough of a brain in there to have my eyes pecked out if I got too close. And so I kept my distance.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-04.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="551" data-original-width="650" height="435" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-04.jpg" width="513" /></a></div><p></p><p>Eventually we wandered over to an adjacent open area where we found the llamas out enjoying the day.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-06.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="487" data-original-width="650" height="411" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-06.jpg" width="549" /></a></div><p></p><p>I wasn’t sure if they were llamas or alpacas. When I lived up north, there was an alpaca farm (Maybe. Or was it llamas?) a bit more than a mile away from our house as the crow flies but my memory failed me. I think those were llamas on that farm as I seem to recall being told to avoid them lest I get spit at.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-05.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="599" data-original-width="650" height="431" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-05.jpg" width="467" /></a></div><p></p><p>Up to this point, the animals smelled us humans and had kept their distance. None ran away from us in terror but they wanted to just relax in peace. Our guide then led us down the driveway to the farm’s shiny new barn.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-07.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="387" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-07.jpg" width="516" /></a></div><p></p><p>As we entered the new digs, our noses were greeted with that familiar barn aroma. The scent always brings me back to my high school days when I would meet friends who lived on farms and perhaps help out with some chores so they’d be free to go out and have fun or just chat with them as they went about their work, usually in a milking parlor.</p><p>Walking to one end of the barn, we were introduced to farm’s cow, Daisy, from afar.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-08.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="392" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-08.jpg" width="522" /></a></div><p></p><p>Sadly, Daisy was a widow, her male partner having been euthanized a couple weeks before. Our guide told us that Daisy had been melancholy ever since and mainly spent her days alone out in the barnyard. Is it anthropomorphizing to suggest that a cow might feel some shade of grief after losing a partner cow?<br /></p><p>Going further into the barn, we found that it was home to all kinds of animals such sheep, goats, pigs – lots of pigs, and the odd goose.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-09.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="379" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-09.jpg" width="505" /></a></div><p></p><p>Now, if memory serves, I believe this goat was ill. He, I think it was a he, ignored us and just squatted over by the wall. If I recall correctly, the guide intimated that he was not long of this earth. Poor fellow. But it's a <i>memento mori</i>. At the end of the day he and I will both return to the soil.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-10.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="394" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-10.jpg" width="525" /></a></div><p></p><p>Now, this guy, on the other hand, was either showing off or being extra vigilant, I wasn’t sure. "Beware the strangers!"<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-12.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="412" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-12.jpg" width="549" /></a></div><p>A goose was taking a bath as we wandered by. Oops! Sorry!<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-11.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="386" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-11.jpg" width="514" /></a></div><p></p><p>As I said, there were lots of pigs. This is Betty White and I do believe she is a Yorkshire.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-13.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="391" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-13.jpg" width="521" /></a></div><p></p><p>And she was a big sow too. Didn’t want much to do with the humans and was instead keen on digging into the hay with her snout and relaxing. She may have been the pig whose pen fell off a truck. Poor thing. At least she is living like a queen now.</p><p>The goats were happy to be petted as was the donkey who took no prodding to come over to get some ear scratching. Petting this cute, furry head reminded me of seeing <i><a href="https://powervoyeur.blogspot.com/2023/01/his-name-is-eo-he-seems-to-understand.html">Eo</a></i> and <i><a href="https://powervoyeur.blogspot.com/2023/02/comfort-him.html">Au Hasard Balthazar</a></i> earlier in the year. Such a gentle creature and eager for attention.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-14.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="398" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-14.jpg" width="531" /></a></div><p></p><p>We were also given a look behind the scenes.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-18.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="392" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-18.jpg" width="522" /></a></div><p></p><p>There were dishes and buckets everywhere in addition to shelves full of canned fruits and vegetables which complemented the fresh stuff.</p><p>Here’s the feeding rota:<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-17.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="432" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-17.jpg" width="575" /></a></div><p></p><p>And here’s the one for getting the animals out in the pasture for some quality roaming time.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-19.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="624" data-original-width="500" height="624" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-19.jpg" width="500" /></a></div><p></p><p>Although Heartland is a small farm in the grand scheme of things, feeding and caring for the animals and hauling all that poop out is no mean feat. <br /></p><p>Since we were the only people on the tour, our guide let us meet a pig named Harriet, an encounter normally reserved for folks on private (and pricier) tours.</p><p>Harriet eagerly came over to us as we entered her pen.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-15.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="500" height="631" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/heart-farm-sanct-15.jpg" width="473" /></a></div><p>After she laid down, our guide gave me a telescoping scratching stick and I proceeded to give her belly a good scratch and it appeared that she enjoyed every minute of it. A fine way to end the tour.<br /></p><p>I think I speak for my Frau when I say that we both enjoyed every minute too. The tour was such a joy! To be outside and breathing in that fresh dairy air and to spend a little time with some of the other non-human denizens of Dane County.</p><p>Heartland doesn’t just let city slickers pet animals, though. They also offer therapy for children which, I gather, involves a therapist leading them around the farm to interact with the animals and work on their mental and emotional health. There are also various youth programs that allow the kids to visit the farm, learn about the animals, and hopefully develop a compassionate view towards them. And, I presume, there’s a healthy dose of environmental stewardship thrown in.</p><p>Wandering the farm and receiving all of its good tidings was a great way to put work out of my mind; to leave bills and problems behind. There is something salutary, perhaps even restorative, about being out in the countryside and interacting with the fauna. I find that, not only do the stresses of life seep away with every step through a barn, with every scratch given behind a donkey's ear, but I am reminded that we humans too are part of nature and, perhaps, not so far removed from the pigs and goats and cows as we think/hope.</p><p>I bet that, if you were to have scanned my brain while I was on the tour, you'd see the stress centers go dark and the happy parts light up. My blood pressure was no doubt lowered. The simple act of scratching a pig's tummy is a potent source of unalloyed joy. You can feel your cares fall away.<br /></p><p>The tour also reminded me that farming, whether it be animals, dairy, or crop, is hard, back-breaking work.<br /></p><p>After the tour, we went into Stoughton and grabbed coffee and a snack. My clothes and shoes may have been a little stinky, but my mind felt udderly (ahem) refreshed.</p><p style="text-align: center;">********</p><p style="text-align: left;">Bonus photo. No cats this time. Instead it’s a screenshot of a news headline that made me chuckle.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/Screenshot_20230324_191942.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="400" height="720" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/Screenshot_20230324_191942.png" width="360" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5941343.post-45917765340132818572024-03-15T13:46:00.002-05:002024-03-15T13:46:43.809-05:00Another house coming at Royster Corners<p>A couple weeks ago <a href="https://powervoyeur.blogspot.com/2024/03/theyre-here-2024-edition.html">I posted something</a> seeing another hole in the ground over at Royster Corners. Well, it wasn't long after that when I spied forms.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/roycorn-20240306.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="363" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/roycorn-20240306.jpg" width="484" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> A new house will be there before long.<br /></div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5941343.post-52837593101911785742024-03-15T13:42:00.001-05:002024-03-15T13:42:18.355-05:00Sorry, Mr. Hansen<p>When I saw this sign saying "Two Monitors and Thunderbolt" posted at a cubicle, I just couldn't help myself.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/hotel-beck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="666" data-original-width="575" height="520" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/hotel-beck.jpg" width="449" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5941343.post-43512547844691197842024-03-15T13:35:00.000-05:002024-03-15T13:35:44.688-05:00(Neil Young voice) Juniper rose, you better go and get it<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/nessalla-juniper-rose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="648" data-original-width="500" height="375" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/nessalla-juniper-rose.jpg" width="290" /></a></div><p></p><p>I don't know why I could just not get a decent photograph of this stuff.</p><p>After several weeks and a couple strolls by the <a href="https://www.nessalla.com/">Nessalla</a> kombucha factory, I finally busted out my bottle of their <a href="https://www.nessalla.com/store/Juniper-Rose-16oz-p367871038">Juniper Rose kombucha</a>. I like juniper and rose and it seems to have less sugar than most of their kombuchas. It's about the herbs and spices and not fruits so I assume it's not a big seller.</p><p>This stuff is very hazy and a light gold. The aroma was sweet-tart. At first, it tasted a bit like apple cider but I think this was mainly because it had a faux sweetness to it from what I presume was the white tea with rose or whatever it was. Then I got some bitterness from tannins and that kombucha bite which made me realize that this was, in fact, tea. A floral taste was fairly prominent while the piney juniper taste was quite mild.</p><p>It had a full body which I think was from that illusory sweetness that the floral taste induced, if that makes sense. My tongue was fooled into thinking there was sweetness present even though there isn't much.</p><p>In end, this is a great kombucha. Its floral-spice combo is simply delicious.<br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5941343.post-50375860977672176282024-03-15T12:50:00.000-05:002024-03-15T12:50:04.810-05:00The Corona Diaries Vol. 107 - Prelude: Down on the Farm<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="381" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/DBhiXx51t6U" width="459" youtube-src-id="DBhiXx51t6U"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5941343.post-14430733156660542002024-03-06T15:41:00.002-06:002024-03-06T15:41:49.848-06:00Muir<p>A neat short that's especially relevant now that I am reading a Muir biography.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="375" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/bBvPuaMvfrU" width="451" youtube-src-id="bBvPuaMvfrU"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5941343.post-30273367959617089352024-03-06T13:37:00.001-06:002024-03-06T13:37:47.752-06:00R.I.P. David Bordwell<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/rip-bordwell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="366" data-original-width="650" height="285" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/rip-bordwell.jpg" width="506" /></a></div><p></p><p>The Jacques Ledoux Professor Emeritus of Film Studies at my alma mater has passed away.</p><p>I never had a class with him but did use the classic/standard, <i>Film History: An Introduction</i>, that he wrote with his partner Kristin Thompson and he was always a presence in the background.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/bordwell-coverjpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="500" height="448" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/bordwell-coverjpg.jpg" width="336" /></a></div><p></p><p>Thompson wrote about his passing at his/their <a href="https://www.davidbordwell.net/blog/2024/03/03/gone-but-far-from-forgotten/">blog</a>. And Grant Phipps has <a href="https://tonemadison.com/articles/a-small-tribute-to-the-titanic-david-bordwell-a-real-cinephile/">a nice tribute</a> to Bordwell up at Tone Madison.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5941343.post-16260125071759837382024-03-06T08:12:00.002-06:002024-03-06T08:12:44.563-06:00Another sign of spring<p>I saw a pair of killdeer (killdeers?) yesterday. My first sighting of the year.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/killdeer-5Mar24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="408" data-original-width="600" height="323" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/killdeer-5Mar24.jpg" width="474" /></a></div><p>Why yes, I do have a cheap phone.</p><p>Squirrels like to play and snack by my bus stop in the morning. I suppose they're more active now that there's daylight when I am standing there. I spied a couple of them breaking their fasts.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/squirrels-5Mar24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="650" height="274" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/squirrels-5Mar24.jpg" width="556" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5941343.post-68280201393986965362024-03-05T19:06:00.002-06:002024-03-05T19:06:48.642-06:00Bill Berry plays a mean ride cymbal<p>I have been listening to a lot of <a href="https://remhq.com/">R.E.M.</a> lately. While I know <i>Document</i> is considered by many older fans to be their <i>Duke</i>, to use a Genesis analogy (i.e. - a new sound overtaking the old), I love it. "Disturbance at the Heron House" is a favorite but also this song, "Lightnin' Hopkins". I just adore this song. Layers of wonderfully melodic guitar, great vocals, hoppin' bass, and Bill Berry's fantastic drumming. This song just smokes! Listen to Berry's work on the ride during the "chorus" after Stipe yells "crow!"</p><p>There's a bluesy grittiness here yet the song is far away from the blues. Listen at 00:51 in - they're cookin'!<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="347" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/xPoz9vlH_jc" width="417" youtube-src-id="xPoz9vlH_jc"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5941343.post-2442370110855142432024-03-03T09:01:00.003-06:002024-03-03T09:01:51.720-06:00The Corona Diaries Vol. 106 - Postlude: Byrds<p>(Read <a href="https://powervoyeur.blogspot.com/2024/02/the-corona-diaries-vol-106-where-are.html">entry #106</a>.)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="389" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/PrU9iI2VxPE" width="467" youtube-src-id="PrU9iI2VxPE"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5941343.post-78208373692815714122024-03-03T09:01:00.000-06:002024-03-03T09:01:18.834-06:00Google meets Blue Öyster Cult<p>I stumbled across <a href="https://www.msn.com/en-ca/money/other/inside-the-crisis-at-google/ar-BB1jbMkQ">an article</a> about the random access myth that is Google which was accompanied by this picture.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/google-boc-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="301" data-original-width="534" height="301" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/google-boc-1.jpg" width="534" /></a></div><p></p><p>Surely I am not the only person who saw this and thought of a certain album cover...</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/google-boc-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="491" data-original-width="500" height="356" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/google-boc-2.jpg" width="363" /></a></div><p>"The Revenge of Google Gemini"? "I Am the Company You Warned Me Of"? "The Siege and Investiture of Andy Bechtolsheim's HQ in Santa Clara"?<br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5941343.post-90792484405904748842024-03-01T18:52:00.000-06:002024-03-01T18:52:17.380-06:00They're here... (2024 edition)<p>I saw and heard my first red-winged blackbird of the year!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/20240301-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="334" data-original-width="650" height="265" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/20240301-1.jpg" width="515" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/20240301-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="323" data-original-width="642" height="261" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/20240301-2.jpg" width="519" /></a></div><p></p><p>While I certainly welcome their return, I do lament the lack of winter. I miss it. So little snow.</p><p>On my walk to the library this evening, I noticed that a new house will be going up soon over at Royster Corners.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/20240301-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="370" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/20240301-3.jpg" width="492" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5941343.post-30833400518721109382024-03-01T18:47:00.002-06:002024-03-01T18:47:36.957-06:00Piper March '24<p>Piper is enjoying the warmer weather and the sun. It's lovely to see her ears straightening out after having curled at the tips when she was getting medication applied in them.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/pipe-20240301-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="350" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/pipe-20240301-1.jpg" width="465" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/pipe-20240301-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="349" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/pipe-20240301-2.jpg" width="464" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/pipe-20240301-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="351" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/pipe-20240301-3.jpg" width="468" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5941343.post-29848436653065640582024-02-27T10:16:00.002-06:002024-03-04T09:40:56.114-06:00The Corona Diaries Vol. 106: Where are those confounded plums?<p>(late-August 2023)</p><p>(See the <a href="https://powervoyeur.blogspot.com/2024/02/the-corona-diaries-vol-106-prelude.html">wonderful prelude</a>.) <br /></p><p>I admit to being thoroughly shocked that the kids were up and awake the next morning at a fairly early hour. It’s just not like them as I was under the impression that they prefer (and are able) to sleep until late morning, like 11, if not until the early afternoon. This has certainly been the case when they stay at our house. Maybe they’ve turned over a new leaf. Or perhaps they were simply being accommodating of the old farts whom they knew were accustomed to rising in the antelucan darkness to take coffee with the dawn chorus.<br /></p><p>They drove over to our hotel and we were soon off to <a href="https://www.facebook.com/connellsfamilyorchard/">Connell’s Orchard</a> which lies out in the gently rolling hills northeast of Eau Claire. While still fairly cool out, it wouldn't be long before the sun heated things to a toasty 85 degrees or so. The scenery was absolutely gorgeous as we drove down a series of mostly straight, though sloping, country roads to get there. The foliage was still verdant and the air rich with that country smell of trees, grass, and wildflowers. (No cow poop.) At one point, I saw a bunch of cars lining both sides of the road ahead. The first thing that came to mind was that another family farm had gone under and that there was an auction being held. Thankfully that was not the case. Instead, a church was having a potluck picnic. It seemed that it had drawn people from as far away as Seymour with the promise of tasty eats and fine company.<br /></p><p>I have no recollection of ever having been out this way back when I lived in the area but decided a return trip was needed even before reaching the orchard.<br /></p><p>Once we parked, I made a bee line for an observation tower that afforded one a nice view of the orchard in addition to a slide that was fairly high up.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/connells-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="408" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/connells-1.jpg" width="542" /></a></div><p></p><p>It was simply lovely. The hills were lined with apple trees that went up and disappeared into the distance. Eve would have been spoiled for choice. Clusters of raspberry bushes were tucked between and, presumably, made for borders where a section of one <span class="ILfuVd" lang="en"><span class="hgKElc"><span><span>pomaceous variety ended and yielded to another.<br /></span></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/connells-2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="404" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/connells-2.jpg" width="538" /></a></div><p></p><p>The kids were out to pick raspberries and plums while the Frau and I were content to just stroll around and take in some sun and scenery. Emphasis on sun because it got rather hot rather quickly.<br /></p><p>Both of the kids had cameras which I soon learned were actual 35mm film cameras. Good on them! I knew that they had both gone retro and become aficionados of vinyl records but didn’t know that their analog preferences extended to photography as well. I blame the boy's Luddite stepfather.</p><p>Ahem.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/connells-8.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="404" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/connells-8.jpg" width="538" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/connells-9.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="500" height="544" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/connells-9.jpg" width="408" /></a></div><p></p><p>There was corn too and I wandered down a trail that led into a field of maize that I presume will become a maze before too long.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/connells-3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="396" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/connells-3.jpg" width="527" /></a></div><p></p><p>As I was traipsing down the path through the corn - I mean, you never know what woodland creature you'll encounter having a snack or if He Who Walks Behind the Rows is around, I heard an engine not too far in front of me. Was the corn being harvested? Was I going to be gobbled up by a combine and spit out the side to become a tasty long pig treat for some animals?!</p><p>What an ignominious way to go, meeting your end at the cutter blades of a piece of farm equipment when you're doing absolutely no farm work. I can just imagine the headline in The Chippewa Herald: "City slicker killed in corn combine calamity". <br /></p><p>My momentary anxiety quickly dissipated when the sound became less loud as whatever farm implement it was had turned away from me. I exhaled in relief and wandered the corn a bit more before heading back out to the apples.<br /></p><p>This poor tree was bending under the weight of all the fruit it bore.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/connells-4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="500" height="525" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/connells-4.jpg" width="393" /></a></div><p></p><p>Considering how dry the summer had been, I was surprised that the orchard appeared to have a bumper crop on their hands. I don’t know how long it takes for an apple tree to bear fruit (a few years?), but even the younger ones had apples aplenty.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/connells-5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="384" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/connells-5.jpg" width="511" /></a></div><p></p><p>My Frau went to relax in the shade as the heat had caught up with her so I met up with the kids who had a full quart of raspberries and were in search of the plums. I had no clue and found no signs so I flagged down a woman who presumably worked there as she was zipping along on her riding mower. I probably looked like a novice semaphore signaler with a case of Tourette syndrome as I stumbled down the hill towards her frantically waving my arms around to get her attention as she was staring straight ahead and had a pair of hearing-protection headphones on.<br /></p><p>With her blonde hair pulled back in a pony tail, she was clad in shorts and a white tank top showing off a fairly dark tan. Even more generous, though, was her smile which seemed genuine as opposed to a put-on for a dumb tourist who can't read a simple map. Maybe she wasn't really happy to dole out some customer service and instead just thrilled to be outside as opposed to inside in front of a computer screen. Regardless, I didn't feel too stupid asking her where to find the plums.<br /></p><p>She told me that the desired fruits were to be found up the hill, past the blueberry bushes, and out near the fence on the far side of the orchard. And so we trekked over that way. The blueberries were easy to find.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/connells-7.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="650" height="446" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/connells-7.jpg" width="503" /></a></div><p>They weren’t far from the fence that the mower lady had mentioned so we looked around and wandered between rows of apples.</p><p><i>Apples, apples everywhere<br />And not a plum to be seen!</i></p><p>I felt a bit silly not being able to find the plum trees. How hard could it be to find a row of them? So we started heading back towards the store and noticed that the mower lady was plying her trade, zipping in and out of rows of saplings. She must have noticed the glum looks on our faces and asked if we had found the plum tree.</p><p>Tree! A single tree!</p><p>We told her we had not and she kindly escorted us to it. We were in the right general area but a couple rows off and too close to the fence. On the way over, I asked her about the orchard and she explained that the land has been in the owners’ family for generations. Indeed, the plum tree we were headed to had been planted decades ago by a great-grandmother.</p><p>As we approached it, I felt like I was treading on hallowed ground. After all, this tree was many decades older than me. I wanted to tell the kids to pick the fruit carefully so as not to damage it lest we get run out of the orchard with brickbats.<br /></p><p>Look at those plums!<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/connells-6.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="500" height="602" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/connells-6.jpg" width="450" /></a></div><p></p><p>They were smaller and bluer than the ones I commonly find at the grocery store. Must be a different variety.</p><p>Since it was still early in the apple season, most of the trees were full of fruit. We walked down rows of trees bearing green varieties and thought they simply looked delicious. And then we were ambling by a row of red ones and the air became sweetly scented with apple. I wonder why it is that some have a powerful aroma while others do not. Looking around, I don’t think it was that there more of the latter kind on the ground busted open. Those seemed to be scattered everywhere. I really think some apples just have more of some aromatic compounds than others.</p><p>Roaming the orchard was the perfect way to spend the day. I bought a couple apple fritters before we left and they were amongst the best I’ve ever had. While there was some sugar sprinkled on them, they weren’t glazed. This put the heavenly combination of fried dough and apple up front instead of the rush of sugar and more sugar. Just excellent.</p><p>As I've gotten older, I've become anti-glaze, anti-frosting. They're fine and I eat glazed and frosted pastries occasionally but it's really the grain tastes I favor. A good cake doesn't need frosting. I like the cake part. I love the taste of grains and the Maillard reactions resulting from cooking them. This explains the tersely worded tweet I sent Nabisco after they discontinued production of rye Triscuits as well as the severe depression I fell into when Natural Ovens Bakery stopped making their 7 Grain Herb Bread. It is also why I love beer but am not enamored of those that have been barrel aged, made to taste like Hawaiian Punch, or contain enough hops to fell a horse.<br /></p><p>On an old man note, the girl – a teenager – who was manning the cash register was unable to make change correctly. It seemed like the register was broken or as old as the plum tree because it wasn’t telling her how much to give in return so she kind of froze, unable to figure things out on her own. Are kids not expected to learn how to subtract without a calculator these days? Or was it just this particular girl?</p><p>Regardless, I loved Connell’s Orchard and cannot recommend it enough. Just count your change.</p><p style="text-align: center;">********</p><p>A few weeks ago I subscribed to <a href="https://www.countyhighway.com/">County Highway</a> which bills itself as “America’s Only Newspaper”. It does so because, although the paper has a website, you won’t find any of the articles or content there, just an overview of the publication and info on how to subscribe.</p><p>County Highway is the brainchild of two writers: David Samuels and Walter Kirn. I am completely unfamiliar with Samuels – no offense – and know Kirn only as co-host of the <a href="https://www.racket.news/s/america-this-week">America This Week podcast</a> with journalist Matt Taibbi. Kirn mentioned the paper on a recent episode and I looked into it.</p><p>The website trumpets:</p><p>“County Highway is a 20-page broadsheet produced by actual human beings, containing the best new writing you will encounter about America. It features reports on the political and spiritual crises that are gripping our country and their deeper cultural and historical sources; regular columns about agriculture, civil liberties, animals, herbal medicine, and living off the grid, mentally and physically; essays about literature and art, and an entire section devoted to music.”</p><p>I was intrigued and, after a couple weeks of procrastination, finally subscribed. My first issue – <i>the</i> first issue. which is sure to be a valuable collector's item (ha!) – arrived recently.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/countyhwy1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="380" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/countyhwy1.jpg" width="506" /></a></div><p></p><p>I understood that it was to be in the form of a 19th century broadsheet but was still taken by surprise at the font choices. They looked positively old timey. The paper looked like something that had been read by Wyatt Earp as he sat in an outhouse doing his business.</p><p>I’ve read the reports and a couple essays so I’ve got a fair bit under my belt but still have many pages to go.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/countyhwy2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="500" height="500" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/countyhwy2.jpg" width="374" /></a></div><p>I have read about the <a href="https://miracleofamericamuseum.org/">Miracle of America Museum</a> in Montana, failing wheat crops in Oklahoma, Appalachian protest novels, as well as a jeremiad against AI, big tech, and the future promised us by the Elon Musks of the world amongst other pieces. Oh, and one about the commercial development of the area around Joshua Tree National Park that I will mention because it fits in with a general theme thus far: it’s been largely Western in approach.</p><p>Montana, California, Oklahoma – nothing Midwestern, though Appalachia has gotten some column inches. So far nothing about my part of the country. So far.<br /></p><p>The stories have been about the common man and woman. While the great and the good may be named checked or their influence noted, it’s the little people who have gotten the bulk of the ink thus far. The overall tone seems to be a mix of Hunter S. Thompson tempered by a dose of downers and Paul Harvey. There is also an element of weird America to be had as well as an America that is simply not conceived of by popular culture and the mainstream media. Nooks and crannies of an offline world that resists the ostentatious allure of TikTok, Instagram, and Twitter.</p><p>If the paper were to fall on hard times and throw a benefit concert to raise funds, the Bob Geldof/Midge Ure figures would be remiss if they didn't recruit <a href="https://handsomefamily.com/">The Handsome Family</a> to the cause. Same for <a href="https://wovenhandband.com">Wovenhand</a>. The music of these bands captures the off-in-the-ditch vibe of County Highway with off-kilter and intense perfection.</p><p>This being the very first issue, I am eager to finish it and see where the publication goes in the next one. It’s weird to be reading a paper newspaper again and I cannot think of the last time I subscribed to a genuine print publication.</p><p>OK, I just thought of it but it's a magazine.</p><p>I enjoy the focus a physical publication brings with no browser tab sitting right there to lure me into checking my email or go off to waste time on Reddit. No indicators that I have a new text message appear next to the banner. The world is a quieter, slower, and more pensive place with a newspaper.</p><p style="text-align: center;">********</p><p>Bonus photo. The Frau bought the cats what I call a scratching tray. It’s this tray filled with rows of cardboard pieces for cats to scratch on. Apparently it has been laced with catnip and now Piper is using it as a bed and a couch too as she spends hours sitting on it, looking up at the picture window. She has even dragged her favorite toys onto it and squats on them like a hen incubating her eggs.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/piper-cardboardbed.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="374" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/piper-cardboardbed.jpg" width="499" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5941343.post-37108699694820257602024-02-23T13:59:00.003-06:002024-02-23T13:59:58.134-06:00New single from The Claudettes<p><a href="https://theclaudettes.com/">The Claudettes</a> have a new single out called "Touch Me Back".</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="368" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Sb87i8s-nQo" width="443" youtube-src-id="Sb87i8s-nQo"></iframe> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A sultry little tune and a nice change of pace from of all of the Whiskeytown I've been listening to lately.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The Claudettes will be here in Madison <a href="https://www.northstreetcabaret.com/events/2024/5/18/the-claudettes">on 18 May</a> out at the North Street Cabaret.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5941343.post-42451568279999110372024-02-23T08:02:00.000-06:002024-02-23T08:02:01.274-06:00East Side Club Bockfest '24<p><a href="https://escmadison.com">The East Side Club</a>'s Bock Fest is set for 2 March.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/esbc-bockfest24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="500" height="411" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/esbc-bockfest24.jpg" width="321" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Despite August Schell being from Wisconsin, I hope to be able to sample their bock(s?) there.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5941343.post-42262259937830255472024-02-23T07:56:00.001-06:002024-02-23T07:56:16.008-06:00A deep-dive into Can's Future Days<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/can-futuredays-cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="349" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/can-futuredays-cover.jpg" width="349" /></a></div><p></p><p>BBC Radio 3's Arts & Ideas programme recently did a show on Can's fourth album, <i><a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p0hdfqs6">Future Days</a></i>, presumably because of former singer <a href="https://powervoyeur.blogspot.com/2024/02/rip-damo-suzuki.html">Damo Suzuki's passing</a>. I haven't listened to it yet but am looking forward to it. Nice to see some Krautrock getting some love.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5941343.post-81090113904721828012024-02-22T08:20:00.001-06:002024-02-22T08:20:45.248-06:00Take off, it's a beauty way to go<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/dineo-nature.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="362" data-original-width="650" height="285" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/dineo-nature.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><p></p><p>Channel 27 here in Madison has a <a href="https://www.wkow.com/news/you-just-have-to-take-the-step-sun-prairie-family-wants-to-empower-others-to/article_c5808626-d132-11ee-939b-079a57f1c4aa.html">nice little profile</a> of Dineo Dowd, a woman from Sun Prairie, who is on a mission to get people to enjoy the great outdoors.</p><p><i>"I'm so happy to see people get outside," Dowd said. "I'm so happy to see children, most of all. They don't have to wait until they're 27 years old to experience that first hike."</i></p><p>Yes!</p><p>Her website is called <a href="https://wiadventurefamily.com/">Wisconsin Adventure Family</a>. Some blog, some swag, and I see she has written several books for kids.<br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5941343.post-42315662812683354082024-02-21T14:20:00.001-06:002024-02-21T14:20:21.287-06:00The Corona Diaries Vol. 106 - Prelude: Something wonderful is happening<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/tull-wonderful.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="588" data-original-width="800" height="380" src="https://hosting.photobucket.com/images/v99/tim_archer/tull-wonderful.jpg" width="517" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0