It feels like this has been a rather momentous week. The premier for the documentary that I worked on this summer, now titled "In Search of the Storm", was on saturday. It was received very well by the 200+ that filled the IMAX theatre to capacity. I personally had hoped that it would be more than it turned out to be, but I would still gladly attach my name to it. Jeff still wants to make a directors cut which I feel will probably be closer to the vision I had for it.

Right after the premier I had lunch with my parents who had just returned from their trip out west. They brought back with them my grandfathers camera collection that had been promised to me over a year ago. My grandfather was apparently not really that into photography or cameras, his collection just sort of happened. I've heard that someone gave him the first camera, then others figured since he had that one he might like more. The collecting was more thrust upon him than born out of a love, not that the love didn't develop since he continued to collect. My aunt Kathy then inherited the collection when my grandfather died. Since I expressed interest in the collection she said that I could have it. So on saturday afternoon I received a cardboard box filled with dusty lenses and melted bulbs. As an unexpected but very pleasant surprise included was my mother's childhood brownie camera with her name and address written on a strip of tape on the back, and slides that I think were shot by my grandfather. I never knew him, so I always cherish the small connections I can find.

I think all of this has been magnified by the winds of change that seem to be coming with the oncoming fall. It has been an amazing summer of adventure, leisure and learning, but the work force and structure and calling to me again. More adventure to come I'm sure.

That some restraint of individual liberty is good and necessary is admitted by all intelligent persons: that too much restraint is bad is also admitted by everyone. Disagreement arises when we try to define "some" and too much." Just how much is too much? and how little is some? If this could be settled peace would descend upon Congress and Parliament, the Democrat and the liberal would lie down with the Republican and the conservative, and a little child should lead them.

- AW Tozer

The Adventures of Joel Schwab

I have just finished one great adventure and am heading into another. In a few hours I will be leaving for Folk Fest to enjoy a few carefree days of music, sun and relaxation. Folk Fest, however, is an experience I've had before. I know it will be amazing as it has been years previous. But, last week I had a most unique experience. A few months ago my friend Jeff phoned me up with an opportunity I couldn't refuse. He was filming a documentary on the U of M storm chasers and needed another person on the crew. The work experience alone would have convinced me, but to be chasing storms as well, I told him yes without even considering what else might be going on that week. Nothing would be more important than this. So last thursday morning at 4 am I arose bleary and cursing the darkness to start on the path to adventure. There were storms of wind, lightening and hail, 1000s of kms to drive, an ever changing landscape dotted by small town after small town and an endless soundtrack to accompany it all. We saw Montana, Wyoming, Nebraska, Kansas, South Dakota and it's northern counterpart, but no tornados. A great trip with lots of good footage despite the lack of weather based funnel destruction. To recount everything that happened would be near impossible. A task made difficult as many things started to blur together because of the flurry of activity separated by long stretches of driving. Here are some of my favorites points.

*

I was in charge renting the vehicle. (This is the day before we left). I trusted that the details were taken care of and all I had to do was show up with my licence and credit card. When the clerk named the three options of cars my lack of car knowledge left me floundering. Knowing that we had a lot of stuff to pack I asked which car had the largest trunk space. On that piece of information we agreed upon the Dodge Charger. Little did I know that I had chosen a rather luxury and sporty vehicle. A vehicle that we would glory in driving and be very thankful for in the long run. It did have just enough space for us to pack everything, but it was also very comfortable to drive ( a plus when you end up driving 6000km in 6 days.) Its' shape was surprisingly stable in strong winds and in the need of a pass by shot I pushed the car up to almost 180 km/hr with little effort. It looked sweet as well and had a beauty of a sound system (the essentials of course).

*

We stopped for a gas up in a reserve town named Poplar at a Casino/Gas station. We ended up staying a while as one of the storm chaser vans was accidentally filled partially with diesel. There was a pack of dogs wandering around unleashed. One rather small and timid dog caught my attention as he was hiding behind a gas pump away from the rest of the group. I tried to entice him to me by pouring a little water of a bottle into my hand and offering it to him. He approached very cautiously and stopped about a meter away from me. I refilled my cupped palm with water as it leaked out hoping to draw him in. Untrusting he circled me trying to get behind me, myself turning to keep up with his postion. We continued this dance for a few minutes until a boy about 8 or 9 screeched up on his bike yelling, "What are you doing to my dog? What are you feeding him?" I explained I was only trying to give him some water. The boy told me the dogs name (which I have forgotten as it wasn't english), and without skipping a beat held out a pinwheel he was hold and began his sales pitch. "Do you want to buy this for your kids?" I told him I didn't have any kids chuckling a little at his unexpected bravado and opportunism. "How about your girlfriend? Do you want to buy it for your girlfriend?" Unable to get a sale he biked off. Our convoy of cars was on the road again a minute later.

*

We had amazing luck finding unique experiences on the trip. One of the happened the morning we were to leave Hot Springs, South Dakota. Everyone but Craig (my constant driving and doc companion) had left to meet up with the rest of the group who had stayed in a different hotel from us. If we had left with them, we would have just sneaked past the Miss South Dakota Beauty Pageant parade that blocked off the only main street in the entire town. We were privy to a very small town scene of decorated convertibles and trucks slowly cruising past small groups of people collecting the candy tossed from the parade. We made the best of our time filming the South Dakota flavour. After the parade had passed we joined the second parade of traffic that had been corked up waiting for the street to clear up. Our car drew attention from the still mostly gathered crowd since our storm chasers sign was attached to to our rather flashy vehicle. The best response we received was from rather white trashy looking man who raised a drink to us in salute as he cheered out while reading our sign, "WOOOO! University of ..... WHATEVER!" Come now, is Manitoba that hard to pronounce? We laughed much at his expense.

*

Our cars only radio contact was with Jeff, so he was our only life line to knowing our direction and plans. So when the often speedy Chase 1 and Chase 2 left the rest of the group in a muddle of traffic taking Jeff with them we were a little aimless. To our benefit Chase 4 had a large antenna on its' roof that acted as a good traffic locator. Our orphaned group pulled over for a hurried bathroom stop / where the heck are the others gathering and I took the opportunity to ask the others of our direction in case we got lost. We were heading for Sydney, Nebraska. I told Craig in hopes that one of us would remember in our flustered state. The moment we got in the car we both forgot. I threw the car into drive and instinctively turned the stereo back on as I asked Craig, "Where are we going again?" The stereo uttering its first sounds of start up sang out "Sydneyyyyyy". We both looked at each other silent for a second and then began to laugh hysterically over the blind chance of the moment. A good laugh that was only rivalled by our good 10min tear induced laugh over an NPR gardening show reminiscent of SNLs Schwetty Balls.

*

There were many more experiences, but you will just need to see the documentary when it comes out this fall. The post is already long enough to demand more patience than I expect of you. Enjoy these photos from the trip as I head off for a week of dirty feet and wide smiles.

I don't know exactly how to describe this. I feel like I'm living the dream. No obligations beyond the ones I choose to impose. Goals of autodidacticism, learning only what entices my mind. Most of my days have been spent in my sun room with a fresh brewed coffee and a book on typography, wrestling my mind around m's, axis and white space. A life of leisure, always keeping myself busy enough to keep it turning into lethargy. It can not nor will not last forever, but I'm keeping the wolf from the door by taking on a job every once in a while. This is already a memorable summer. It feels like the best version of summer break from childhood, but with the freedoms of adulthood.

Tomorrow I let the wind blow me where it will in a very different sense. Tomorrow I start on an adventure. I will be helping to film a documentary on the U of M storm chasers program. Even on the night before departure I'm unsure if we are heading to Kansas or Oz. I am excited about the unknown of this adventure, a feeling I don't often get. I'm giddy. Let's see where the wind carries us.

-OO-

My very first eye exam is one of the most vivid childhood memories I have. I guess terror has a way of making an impression on a young mind.

The exact year is a little hazy, very early elementary years for certain. It wasn't the first year my family lived in Ottawa, so at least grade 2. So then imagine small chubby cheeked grade 2 Joel, honest to and trusting of the adults around me. I'd just finished having my yearly doctors check up (the reason why I'm sure it was at least my 2nd grade as we moved to Ottawa mid grade 1 and I'm a sept baby). The doctor wanted to talk to my mom about something, so the nurse decided to give me an eye exam while I waited. She had me stand up with my back against the wall in the dimly lit waiting room, and had me look at the eye chart of various sized letters she had on the opposite wall over her desk. I have no honest recollection of what she looked like, but I always imagine her as some large grizzled menace of a woman who sneers at children and has a healthy past time of ruining their lives. She wanted to ruin mine. She points her knobby finger at the chart and says, "Tell me what words these are." Now 2nd grade Joel was a quick and perceptive thinker, but a litteral one. "Words,"I thought, "these are no words I know. They don't even follow any patterns or rules of the english language." I could have inferred letters instead of words, but I was too trusting and obedient. I could compose no answer for this troll of a woman. Yes, a troll, for that is what she was. She was the troll that blocked my path on the bridge to the green pastures of no glasses. No child wants glasses. Glasses make you different, glasses get you made fun of. I was neither cool nor uncool, but glasses could tip that scale. The thicker the glasses the further that scale tipped. The more I stared bewildered at the strange dialect of words scrawled upon the trolls riddle on the wall, the larger my fear grew, and with it the image of my imaginary glasses. Theseglasses were coke bottles of grotesque proportions, their size so immense that they crushed my windpipe so the only sound that would escape little grade 2 Joel's mouth was a small stammer of sound. Ffffp? L-Lp-Lped? Nothing made sense. Time stretches and twists for a child in terror, so I'm not sure how long it was before my mom came back. I'm sure the nurse grinned and hunched over with her fingertips tented as she approached my mother. "He's as blind as a mole with cataracts," she said, "he'll need thick thick glasses indeed. Mwa ha! Mwa ha ha ha ha haa...." There may not have actually been evil laughter. There were however tearfully blubbered words out of wet chubby 2nd grade cheeks to my mom on the drive home. "She said words! Not letters. They didn't spell anything. I don't need glasses! I can see! She said words!" My mom knew I didn't need them, and did her motherly best to consol me, letting me know she understood.

But about a year ago I was trying to focus a camera, and I couldn't. It didn't matter how much I tried, it was always just a little soft. And then I switched eyes, and it hit me. I needed glasses. But by now my view on glasses had changed. In fact, I was rather excited for the opportunity to have an excuse for an accessory.

3 pairs from Zenni optical arrived in my hand this weekend, and I began to wear them right away. I have yet to get fully used to them. I feel smaller, or bigger, I'm not entirely sure which. The perspective has been thrown out of whack. If things are this clear they must be closer, but it still feels further. And then I take them off and the slightest of fogs cloaks the world. It takes about 3 minutes for me to get used to unassisted vision. The one thing that instantly struck me when I first put them on was how detailed peoples eyes were. I couldn't get over it. It was like they had gone from an impressionist painting to stained glass with stark black lines of definition. Lauren told me excitedly that I should go look at blades of grass, but I don't think it would enthral me as much as peoples eyes did that first day. Perhaps everyone has their blade of grass/detailed eyes fixation when they get their first glasses. (added the day after) I'm sure these glasses have not ruined my life. I'm still cool, right?

I got a call this evening that the last of my pairs has arrived for pick up tomorrow.

So now I guess I have 8 eyes.

Oh Dear...

I've become one of those people, haven't I.

One of those people that have a blog and never update it.

Maybe even worse, one of those people who update it once ever year or so, teasing themselves and others that they will update more frequently.

Ya, I think that's it. I think I'm one of those.

It's not that I haven't been intending to post for some time. I have.

I have written many posts in my head, planning out what and how to say it. But that only benefits my mind.

It's like seeing a beautiful scene and thinking you should take a picture of it, but you don't. A beautiful picture that only exists as a concept.

Well lets try this again. Let's bring this Frankenstein's monster back to life.

ZAP!

Let's see if it worked.

As a side note, today is supposedly the rapture according to certain American organizations.

I'll post something tomorrow.

The labor of self-love is a heavy one indeed. Think for yourself whether much of your sorrow has not arisen from someone speaking slightingly of you. As long as you set yourself up as a little god to which you must be loyal there will be those who will delight to offer affront to your idol. How then can you hope to have inward peace? The heart's fierce effort to protect itself from every slight, to shield its touchy honor from the bad opinion of friend and enemy, will never let the mind have rest....

There is hardly a man or woman who dares to be just what he or she is without doctoring up the impression. The fear of being found out gnaws like rodents within their hearts. The man of culture is haunted by the fear that he will some day come upon a man more cultured than himself. The learned man fears to meet a man more learned than he. The rich man sweats under the fear that his clothes or his car or his house will sometime be made to look cheap by comparison with those of another rich man.

-AW Tozer

This has been running through my head since I read it a month ago. It's very ecclesiastical. Like a mantra returning again to calm the damaged ego.

Since the new year began I've been listening through all the albums I picked up in 2010. Reviewing them and often gaining a first appreciation. For some reason it seems to be a year of music that's taken a long time to endear itself to me.

I got on the wrong bus a week ago. I stepped off green grass onto the bus, and in the 20 odd pages that my attentions were away from the window, the scenery changed. It wasn't until I got near my stop that I looked up and realized there was snow everywhere. Not just little bits here and there, but blankets enough to leave footprints. I had taken the bus to winter. Step on in one world, step off into another.

I must say it was one of the best ways to move into winter. No slow crawl into the frozen months. It was more like a magic trick. A dark cloth was spread over the world, a little misdirection here and then ABRACADABRA. The cloth is removed and everything is magically and drastically change.

I'm not the biggest fan of winter. Yes there are good things about it, but I feel the cold generally out ways the benefits. But I do make peace with it. I accept the things that it does have to offer and pay winter's exorbitant price for them. So today I performed the peace ceremony. It involves baking the seasons first batch of ginger snaps while drinking something warm and listening to my new winter album. This year is the The Wilderness of Manitoba's newest LP (ironically a band from Ontario). I am ready to face off against the winter months with a gingersnap in my mouth, a cup of tea in my hands and sweet voices in my ear.

She

I bought it for the beautiful cover, but I didn't expect to enjoy it this much. I love when potent poetry and philosophy surface in an adventure/philosophy story. What better way to dissect life than to look at it's exaggeration.

"Though the face before me was that of a young woman of certainly not more than thirty years, in perfect health, and the first flush of ripened beauty, yet it had stamped upon it a look of unutterable experience, and of deep acquaintance with grief and passion. Not even the lovely smile that crept about the dimples of her mouth could hide this shadow of sin and sorrow. It shone even in the light of the glorious eyes, it was present in the air of majesty, and it seemed to say: 'Behold me, lovely as no woman was or is, undying and half-divine; memory haunts me from age to age, and passion leads me by the hand - evil have I done, and with sorrow have I made acquaintance from age to age, and from age to age evil I shall do, and sorrow shall I know till my redemption comes.'"

A portrait of She-who-must-be-obeyed. The best and most lovely description of the book. The explanation on the back cover was almost wrong and captured none of the books appeal.

"So I lay and watched the stars come out by thousands, till all the immense arch of heaven was sewn with glittering points, and every point a world! Here was a glorious sight by which man might well measure his own insignificance! Soon I gave up thinking about it, for the mind wearies easily when it strives to grapple with the Infinite, and to trace the footsteps of the Almighty as he strides from sphere to sphere, or deduce His purpose from His works. Such things are not for us to know. Knowledge is to the strong, and we are weak. Too much wisdom would perchance blind our imperfect sight, and too much strength would make us drunk, and overweight our feeble reason till it fell, and we were drowned in depths of our own vanity. for what is the first result of man's increased knowledge interpreted from Nature's book by the persistent effort of his purblind observation? Is it not but too often to make him question the existence of his Maker, or indeed of any intelligent purpose beyond his own? The truth is veiled, because we could no more look upon her glory than we can upon the sun. It would destroy us. Full knowledge is not for man as man is here, for his capacities, which he is apt to think so great, are indeed but small. The vessel is soon filled, and, were one-thousandth part of the unutterable and silent wisdom that directs the rolling of those shining spheres, and the force which makes them roll, pressed into it, it would be shattered into fragments. Perhaps in some other place and time it may be otherwise, who can tell? Here the lot of man born of the flesh is but to endure midst toil and tribulation, to catch at the bubbles blown by Fate, which he calls pleasures, thankful if before they burst they rest a moment in his hand, and when the tragedy is played out, and his hour comes to perish, to pass humbly whither he knows not."

"If a lamp be in his reach to light him through the darkness, he must needs cast it down because it is no star."

Regarding man's endless ambition and its insatiable nature. My favorite line plucked from a multiple page discussion (much too large to post, though one of the best parts of the book) on the benefits and disadvantages of mortality and immortality.

Lady Grey

It's official. My bike gets check out way more than I do. Stopped at a light, compliment given, conversation on the awesomeness of my bike ensues. Locking up my bike at the bank, compliment given, conversation on the awesomeness of my bike ensues. Passing someone on the street, compliment given, conversation on the awesomeness of my bike ensues. Waiting for the canon salute at the legislature on Remembrance Day, compliment given, conversation on the awesomeness of my bike ensues. Locking up my bike at work, expletive compliment given ("f***ing killer bike" from a cute girl no less), no conversation on awesomeness of the bike though. Sitting in Stella's eating breakfast and I see outside a group of 3 men looking over and touching her. Spinning her wheels, examining her 1950s leather seat. Etc, etc.

At least I am meeting and becoming the envy of the cyclists of Winnipeg. I have decided to name her Lady Grey.

Today I learned what a pollywog is, discussed the racism of some of my childhood literature, smoothed some ruffled feathers, reveled at a few surprisingly profound pages in my current novel, made a child laugh and biked bundled up through a night of lightly falling snow. Among other things of course.

I have a special place in my heart for fairy tales (and the work of Tom Gauld).

MURDER! MURDER!

I recently heard the story of Stravinsky's first performance of his "The Rite of Spring". His idea of spring was not rebirth, but violent change. A new growth ripping through the husk of the old. Labor pains of summer. The performance itself created a riot among the audience that drew blood. The police were called.

HELP! POLICE! STOP THEM!

I witnessed it's death. The strangulation of life. I stared across the street, mouth agape with incredulity. I could not move a muscle from behind the counter, only behold the life being taken. I gawked as the man reached down with a heedlessness as callous as his gardener hands and wrapped them around the stringy green neck of a beautifully purple flowered head. A mangler, a strangler, a goon. I held my breath for what seemed like an eternal moment as if my own neck was the own being throttled. And then, with a quick tug, the brute separated the neck and head from the rest of the body. The air in my lungs escaped with a small sound of helplessness as the ravager of summers lady disposed of her head with its purple locks in a bag as black as her potted earthen remain left on the sidewalk. Life cut short. Let her live on! Let her live longer!

OH THE HUMANITY! OH THE HUMANITY!

There is a serial killer out there ceremonially killing off all signs of summer. Walking to Melissa's I came upon another victim. The scene of a grisly murder that had taken place earlier lay before me as if from a slasher film. My heart shattered and hacked apart by the sight just as the pieces of it's once tall and strong body. What once was one unified whole stretching towards the sky now lay as a hundred splintered slabs covering the grass like a grisly carpet. A massacre. A slaughter. A dark pagan ritual sacrifice to Jack Frost.

Now outside my window, the wind tossed, jaundice castoffs of the crooked as a crone trees rattle along the streets like the sound of rickety cartoon skeletons. I hold out hope for an Indian summer. I'm not ready for theis season to be buried.

I want to ride my bicycle...

My lady has her makeup on. It makes her look so pretty. Not that she wasn't beautiful before. Her chrome frame has caught her fair share of eyes. The new cork grips just make her even more lovely. So I took her out on the town tonight. Nothing but the clicking of her gears and the sweat on my back. Gliding along the streets of Winnipeg with the breeze feeling pleasantly cool against my skin, we had ourselves a time. Now all I need for her is a name.

This was the perfect night cap to a nice slow day. I didn't start work until 11:30, letting me take time to enjoy a leisurely paced breakfast while listening to the new Starflyer 59 album. I love slow days for how they result in more time being allowed towards good meals. Fresh garden tomatoes appear to have been the days theme.

9am breakfast - Over medium eggs, grilled tomatoes and homemade apple rhubarb jam on rye. Americano and grapefruit juice.

10pm supper - Mini garden tomatoe and basil on cheddar pizza and a blonde Lefe.

Optimism

Not A Bad World, Is It? - Ed Ruscha

Despite the business and craziness of the day, I enjoyed it.

I feel like I came out of a battle unscathed.

Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it.

- Ghandi

I would never consider myself an ambitious person. It bothers me sometimes. Not to say that I don't have aspirations, I've always just been more of a relaxed, accepting of my situation kind of person. Ambition is supposedly the quality of all great men, so if I lack it what does that make me? If I was more ambitious, would things be different for me? Perhaps I've read too much Ecclesiastes, or I'm too accepting of my lack of ambition to strive to be ambitious. To be ambitious about being ambitious if you will. I have no concrete conclusions to this rumination except for some vague verdict that at least a little more ambition couldn't hurt.

It feels like fall is coming on rather early. I'm not sure that I have a problem with that.

New Westminister

I now have internet hooked up in my apartment, which I am pleased to say was not missed a great deal.

I guess the bigger news out of that statement is that I moved out. Yes, finally, at 27. I don't say that without a twinge of embarrassment raising its bright prickly head. So now, I call the east Broadway area home. The question I have been asked most concern the move is, "are you excited?" Honestly, no. Maybe it is that I knew I had the apartment many months before I could move in so it ebbed away before the move, or that the sense of relief of the event finally happening was greater. I think more that it just above all else felt natural. I feel calm. I have been enjoying the century old wood floors, white walls and large windows that make up the stage for my hours away from the world.

I know, general social conventions state that this should have happened quite a few years ago, but, I never felt that my wings were in any way constricted at home and so never pushed very hard. I had no impulse to escape a family, or a small town or rules like many people causing them to move at the soonest available moment. I have not used my lack of a superior to sow wild oats, or step across previously placed boundaries to test praxis. I never felt restricted in stretching my wings before, but I did seek solitude. To sit alone in my apartment with nothing but a cup of tea and my thoughts to keep me company has been a great joy. A different type of freedom I guess.

A rainstorm at sunset tonight made the sky a beautiful orange colour. For at least half an hour I watched the sky lose it's jack-o-lantern light through my tall, drop streaked windows. Alone. Content.

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I'd been pondering over this freedom/solitude motivation since I moved in. I came across this video on one of the blogs I check often (can't remember which one). It only seemed fitting to include it.

It's been too long. Let's get back on this bike and ride.

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If growth is the only sign of life, and change the forerunner of growth, then I must be living. Lots of changes environmentally and internally. All for the better. I feel like a coiled spring of opportunity, waiting to unleash in a burst of creative kinetic energy.

Shot a roll of film recently. My first since last fall. Much too long a wait, but very telling in certain ways. Quite glad to see how many photos turned out.

Love the colours in this one. Vibrant vibrant technicolour.

When the dog bites, when the bee stings...

Yesterday, I went down to a beautiful photo studio that sits right across the street from the Princess Grill in a just decrepit enough building in the exchange district. Level 3 Studios (as it is called because it is on the 3rd level of the building, how clever) was a very impressive wide expanse with an ever changing style of wall and flooring to create a photographers playground. The reason I was there was not to gap at the grandeur of the place, though I did, but to be the first participant in my friend Jarrod's project, "Favorite Things". That may not be the exact name, but we will say that it is for the purposes of this post. The mode of the project is to have someone talk about their favorite thing and to have photos in conjunction of the subject, in this case myself, with their favorite thing. (This is where the photos about came from)

Here in laid the interesting thought process. When you are asked what is your favorite thing, out of all your objects or conceptions or whatever, what do you pick? Is it your most valuable thing? My most valuable thing is my computer. If my house was burning down it would be one of the things I would grab. It is probably one of my most used objects. I wouldn't even grab my favorite thing if my house was on fire. But, valued or frequency of use doesn't help that object to vibrate at the same frequency of the core of your being. That thing, that seems to articulate the pining of your heart, or make it vibrate with more strength and inspiration, that is it. That thing that makes your heart rate quicken and your tongue loosen at the mention of it. That is your favorite thing.

After much thought and musing I decided upon GK Chesterton's Manalive. I have been equally entertained by wit and prose in other books (though Chesterton seems to be able to deliver more frequently than others), but never have I been driven to live a better life by any other work of fiction. A life defying the mundane, a life of fairy tale.

For the shoot I was going to borrow Aaron's copy as it is much more interesting than my own. And this simple action made me realize why I wouldn't grab my copy if the house was on fire. It's not the book that I'm connected to, it's the story. As long as the story exists in some form somewhere, even if just the inspiration still remaining in my brain from reading it, I have my favorite thing. My favorite thing is in a sense immaterial, and it's avatar is the copies that exist.

Get some coffee in me and my mind can go many places.
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Here is a painting from Value Village that I got in a gift exchange. Miriam, Aaron and myself had a little fun with it.

click it so that you can see it in more detail.

Love Dancing Her Like Cake

These made my night. They are composed by the Avin, the 4 year old daughter of my friends Joel and Maribel. The magnetic letters that adorn their fridge are her creative word playground. Only a child could think up these smile inducing phrases.

sorry for the low quality. all i had was my cell phone.




There was one more that I couldn't photograph because of the limitations of my phone. It said, "She said to go plant a cat out in the sun".

beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!

This has been a test of Joel Schwab's testosterone and facial hair correlation capabilities.


After a month (and a few days, but whose counting) we now return to your regularly scheduled facial hair.

And don't think I didn't consider it. Oh, did I ever consider. But Aaron has that market covered.