Amphibious » Photos

Eggs

admin — Wed, 15 Aug 2007 17:39:53 +0000

How did I grow up in a family of cooks and never learn how to properly hard-boil an egg?

Too much fixing

admin — Sun, 19 Mar 2006 01:47:02 +0000

Sometimes camera phones can be useful. This was seen on the corner of Hawthorne and 9th-ish, walking back to my office from the liquor store with a fresh pack of smokes. It matched my mood at the time fairly well, although nothing in my life was particularly broken just then. The sentiment still resonated somehow. A couple days later, I walked past again with actual camera in hand, to try to get a better picture, but it had already been painted over.

burp

admin — Tue, 29 Nov 2005 21:25:54 +0000

I like the word “shenanigan”

admin — Thu, 27 Oct 2005 23:36:52 +0000

So I was at my friend D’s 30th birthday party the other night. Being situated so close to Halloween, one of his favourite birthday traditions is the Jack-o-lantern Totem Pole. This year, after construction was completed, he added a grand finale by digging up some unused fireworks, lighting them one by one and throwing them into the individual pumpkins. Towards the end, I had my camera out and managed to capture the image below. Creepy!

Also: The Froot Loops of the Devil

State Fair, Seen and Noted

admin — Tue, 30 Aug 2005 00:17:38 +0000

If you possess the same sense of humor that I do, you are totally cracking up right now.

Hmm, I just can’t imagine what those questions might be.

They’re really cracking down on this sort of thing these days.

Eeeeek!

admin — Mon, 15 Aug 2005 19:51:49 +0000

If you haven’t seen this already, you should check it out. Now. Go! What are you waiting for? It’s creeeeeeeeepy. You’ll like it!

Not at all random

admin — Tue, 09 Aug 2005 00:44:29 +0000

“This is some yummy chicken,” she says to me, the words slipping out from her smiling lips, now glistening from the ample greasiness provided by the drumstick between her fingers.
     “Mmmrph hrrrh!” I reply back enthusiastically, nearly sending bits of chewed poultry across the table at her.
     “What?” she asks, obviously unfazed by my momentary lapse in table manners.
     I swallow, and clarify: “I said ‘Yeah! Tasty!’” I turn my attention briefly to the other items on the plateâ€“corn on the cob, a small slice of watermelon, and the sort of white bread roll that you could squish into a little ball that’s roughly 1/16 the size of the original. The classic American BBQ chicken dinner. “Such a nice arrangement, don’t you think? The pink of the watermelon really sets off the yellows and browns of the corn and the chicken,” I say distractedly, my designerish instincts rearing their ugly head. She eyeballs me a little suspiciously, the left corner of her mouth rising ever so slightly in a knowing smirk but then decides to let it go. “Do you suppose there’s a handbook somewhere that tells you that this is how you put together a BBQ chicken dinner plate? Or do you think Americans are just born with the knowledge?”
     “Oh, no,” she says wisely, “this isn’t something you can get from no fancy book learnin’, but I really don’t think you can be born with this sort of information. I’m pretty sure this is one of those mystical traditions that are passed on from father to son at a certain age, maybe 12 or 13.” I ponder this theory for a moment, imagining a halcyonian spring afternoon and a father passing the stainless steel tongs, in slow motion of course, to his eager sonâ€“while a bag of briquettes and a can of lighter fluid looks on…
     I’m pulled out of my reverie when I realize that she’s staring into my eyes and smiling contentedly. “You’re cute,” she says, “so when are we getting married? I want to get started on that farm and the house on the hill we talked about.”
     “Oh, right. Um… how about Tuesday?”
     “Can’t. Busy Tuesday.”
     “Oh. Oh well.”
     “You ready to go find some dessert?” she asks me, as if that settles the matter.
     “Absolutely.” We dump our plates in the nearest trash can and stand a moment, entranced by the band that is playing a ways off, near the beer garden, deeper in the park. They are playing a terrible cover of Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight”, apparently for someone named Keith, and it’s completely unclear whether this Keith person has requested the song for his wife/girlfriend/lover/harlot, or if he simply got an itch to hear some Clapton, no matter how butchered it may be. We agree that for some reason, the latter explanation is the more comforting of the two, and proceed towards the front of the park, where desserts are most likely to be found.

Suppin’ noodles

admin — Mon, 01 Aug 2005 22:08:43 +0000

Impromptu summertime front porch picnics are a fine thing indeed.

Stack-o’-tractors

admin — Wed, 27 Jul 2005 23:24:31 +0000

What is it about lawn tractors that are so disturbing to me? Much less an entire friggin’ stack of them.

Green Toes

admin — Sat, 23 Jul 2005 22:09:30 +0000

Hot damn but I did me some mowin’ today!