Can't help thinking this egret's neck looks like a Möbius curve, which can be explained with equations:
x(u,v) = (4+v*(cos(u/2)))*cos(u)
y(u,v) = (4+v*(cos(u/2)))*sin(u)
z(u,v) = v*sin(u/2)
...or with words like "endless" and "bendy".
One of my favorite things in all the world -- Angels Flight. Here's the view going up:
Eventually, sun and sand and surf and entropy in general get the best of things, like this kayak, which looks like it was chewed in half by a giant land shark.
But some guys and their dogs are in the way, joking and jostling and flirting with a girl, so I wait patiently for a while before asking politely if they could, for just a second, move. They do.
And just like the time I didn't recognize Pam Anderson as I asked her to please wait while I got a shot of the sunset, I've once again startled a celeb by asking him to get out of the picture.
"You're hilarious," I tell Kevin Dillon.
"So are you," he says, and laughs and laughs.
And so we return to tales of the Midwest, where this intrepid blogger, who managed not to blog a trip to Chicago, also found a way to avoid blogging a trip to Wisconsin. Until now.
Then we walked next door to where I used to buy fresh milk from the dairy farmer, only to learn the farm was abandoned, but still so pretty. (And green.) (And it's for sale.)
And then, because all that green was just so compelling, we drove some more, to
So here's a shot of the moonrise, and it really did look like this, all blue and moody, with the bats beginning to fly and the hummingbirds simmering down and bunnies hopping everywhere and no sign of a coyote anywhere, and as the sky went from dusk to dark, this cool column of air rolled through, and the dogs drew near and a porch light winked on and just like that, it was time to head for home.
So I was in Chicago last week for Printer's Row, the annual (and wonderful) book festival held in -- you guessed it -- Printer's Row, a neighborhood south of downtown once home to the city's publishing industry.
Though the logic now escapes me, I left my laptop at home and shot pix only with my iPhome. I mean, iPhoke. Damnit, it's iPhone. I can't make peace with that silly keyboard.
And the next day the festival got into gear:
As regular visitors to this blog already know, I'm a failure as a paparazzo so though I interviewed Justin Cronin, literary man of the moment, and I did get him to sign the galley of his wonderful book, "The Passage", I couldn't bring myself to get a photo.
I did, however, shoot a few pix of my trip to Wisconsin the next day, and that's where we'll reconvene tomorrow. America's Dairyland. Oh yum.
And by "on record" I mean I'm just making stuff up. But 24 hours into the Summer of '10 here's how it looks on our beach, and may I just say, brrrr.
This is it, the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. The sun rose today at 5:42 a.m., which in real life, when you dump that whole daylight savings time sleight-of-hand, was actually 4:42 a.m. Imagine.
Someone, somewhere, knows what to make of this, can tell a story about the hows and whys and wherefores of this little bird dance in the sand.
Here's a sign on a runway at LAX, the reason, I'm assuming, we always get to take a spin over the Pacific, no matter where the plane is headed.
So that was pretty weird, not blogging for a week, the longest I've gone in the four years since this little site was launched. To ease back into the groove, here's the sunrise.
Love the view from the Hotel Blake where copper gargoyles, green and mossy (oh my god -- humidity!) keep watch over my window.
Turns out I'm not the only one enamored of this bit of lawn in one of the canyons.
Meanwhile, I'm headed out of town for a week, maybe blogging, maybe not. Will be in Chicago for Printer's Row, the annual book festival there, where I get to interview Justin Cronin, whose mammoth third novel"The Passage", a post-apocalyptic vampire saga, got a multi-million dollar advance and is now racking up mighty fine reviews.
That's on Saturday afternoon, and on Sunday morning, I get to moderate a panel of talented novelists. And then it's a teensy road trip before a return to the Cove.
Of course I bring my camera. But even though I love the show, love Alan Ball and Anna Paquin (Ahh, Sookie) and Stephen Moyer (Vampire Bill!) and Chris Bauer (oh how I miss "The Wire"), I skip the photog mosh pit.
And really? I adore Nelsan Ellis, admire the way he's turned Lafeyette into one of the most intriguing characters on TV, but what I really, really want is a shot of Nelsan Ellis' date's sparkly golden shoes.
I mean, seriously.
One of the fun facts I learned while writing this book was that George Lucas' inspiration for the At-at Walkers, those metal "Star Wars" monsters, came from cargo cranes at the Port of Oakland. Except that turns out not to be true. (And these particular cranes are at the Port of Long Beach.)
It's just leaves and grass and a creaky, crooked fence, but this is one of my favorite spots in Malibu.
Ran across this sign at that cook's paradise, Surfas, where your impulse purchase of gold sprinkles (23 karat, $111) or balsamic vinegar (100 years old, $285) is, apparently, something you'll have to live with.
Spring is tricky here, sunny one moment and the next, not. Sometimes, when you're walking up a road in the hills, the fog rounds the corner and comes right at you.
No one makes a move up at the barn without the care and attention of Maisie the Teacup Lab®, who takes her job as hostess very, very seriously.
One of these days, the tractor's going to get new paint or new tires or some appearance-altering improvement which, while necessary, will change the old-timey look of it and, most likely, drive me a little nuts. So until then, I photograph it. A lot.
It appeared here in the Cove over the weekend, and in case the size of the thing isn't quite clear, here it is again, with a nearby (good-sized) boat for comparison.