Silence and Cacaphony (or "Silent Lucidity"? Nah.)
Posted 10-11-2009 at 02:39 PM by The Rob
This morning's breakfast: a lump of pumpkin bread. I say "lump" because I have over the last two days eroded it's loaf-shaped goodness, picking at it until it looks less loaf-y and more asteroid-y. An asteroid of pumpkin bread would rock, I think.
I took a few photos of balloons last weekend before BOTH cameras' batteries died (of COURSE).
No, we didn't go into the park; too many people too close together. Instead we parked on I-25 with every other luckless soul who thought they would surely find a superior vantage point within 25 miles of the place. Well, not exactly "parked" per se, but I'm pretty certain our forward motion could have been outrun by various forms of lichen. You'd think we would have been peeved at this, but it did turn out to be a good balloon-gazing spot, plus it was kind of pleasant to witness so many automobiles on the freeway that weren't trying to break the effin' sound barrier. I'm not a big fan of freeway driving anyway, but I've found that many motorists here up the ante considerably by refusing to use turn-signals, so driving amongst these hurtling blinker-phobes is a lot like Han Solo threading the needle through the asteroid field.
Two asteroid references in as many paragraphs. Did NOT see that coming.
Anyway. I can attest to the fact that seeing photos of many balloons in the sky and actually witnessing it personally are two vastly different experiences. Beautiful. Also eerie. I can see why animals would be spooked by these huge craft; even birds make noise, but balloons just hover there as if pondering a judgement. Every once in a while they make this *hhhhhhhhhh* as the pilots adjust altitude, but otherwise they're silent as a secret. I hate to use the overworked and abused word "awesome", but that is what it is to watch these gliding marvels.
All that last was mostly for the benefit of my PDX pals. Maybe many of the 'Burquenos (is that right? Or am I underlining my n00bness here, good citizens?) reading this are thinking "Yeah, balloons yadayada *YAWN!*" I hope not. I hope I don't live here so long that such a wonder becomes boring. It feels much as I used to feel when on a clear morning in Portland I would stand on my balcony with my coffee and gaze at Mt. Hood. You get tired of something like that, go find y'self a sturdy shovel and commence ta diggin'. Yer done.
#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#* #*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#
From the bowels of the "Why I'm Hopeless At Nearly Everything" department: Lately I've been regretting not having learned how to play a musical instrument when I was younger, particularly the guitar. I took a class in junior high school -- Lincoln Junior High, in Abilene, Texas -- in an abortive attempt to learn to play the recorder. Stupid name for an instrument, and I proved to be as ham-fisted with that as I did with virtually any tool I'd handled in wood shop (yeah, I sucked at that too). I had good intentions, I approached the task of learning with all seriousness at first (except for the couple of times I tried to practice at home in front of the mirror, standing on one foot a la Ian Anderson, just to see what I looked like; surprise! I looked like a DORK*), but t'was for naught. I'd have made more pleasant noise stepping on a squirrel. The musical bent I apparently had not. After awhile I tried turning the recorder into a blowgun. My parents were somewhat less than proud.
The reason this yen for guitar-god musicianship has reared it's dexterity-deficient head is that the FM rock stations here in the Duke City seem inordinately fond of '80s metal. Heretofore I wasn't really a fan at all, gravitating to the more eclectic fare of KINK 101.9 FM, perhaps Portland's best station. Here I've found no radio station that quite fits that bill, so when in the car or at work (I installed my own stereo in my work room, go me!) I most often listen to one of three interchangeable rock stations, and godz help me, I've aquired a taste for hair metal! If cities had to decide on a song that represented the collective musical tastes of it's citizenry, Albuquerque's would be The Scorpions' "Rock You Like A Hurricane", because if I bounced to and fro between these three radio stations I would hear that song twenty times in one day, I no keed.
Impromptu Top Seven Guitar Godz List, No Particular Order Except The First Two And That's Debatable Between Them (this is SO youtube-lolz-wtf-geeky I wouldn't blame anyone for rolling their eyes and refusing to read it, but d00dz, just RAWK with me kthx):
Jimi Hendricks
Stevie Ray Vaughan
Eddie Van Halen
Jack White
The Edge
Pete Townsend
Skwisgaar Skwigelf
'kay, that is all.
(* This made me feel better, dork-wise. Thanks, Ian. You're still one of my musical heroes.)
I took a few photos of balloons last weekend before BOTH cameras' batteries died (of COURSE).
No, we didn't go into the park; too many people too close together. Instead we parked on I-25 with every other luckless soul who thought they would surely find a superior vantage point within 25 miles of the place. Well, not exactly "parked" per se, but I'm pretty certain our forward motion could have been outrun by various forms of lichen. You'd think we would have been peeved at this, but it did turn out to be a good balloon-gazing spot, plus it was kind of pleasant to witness so many automobiles on the freeway that weren't trying to break the effin' sound barrier. I'm not a big fan of freeway driving anyway, but I've found that many motorists here up the ante considerably by refusing to use turn-signals, so driving amongst these hurtling blinker-phobes is a lot like Han Solo threading the needle through the asteroid field.
Two asteroid references in as many paragraphs. Did NOT see that coming.
Anyway. I can attest to the fact that seeing photos of many balloons in the sky and actually witnessing it personally are two vastly different experiences. Beautiful. Also eerie. I can see why animals would be spooked by these huge craft; even birds make noise, but balloons just hover there as if pondering a judgement. Every once in a while they make this *hhhhhhhhhh* as the pilots adjust altitude, but otherwise they're silent as a secret. I hate to use the overworked and abused word "awesome", but that is what it is to watch these gliding marvels.
All that last was mostly for the benefit of my PDX pals. Maybe many of the 'Burquenos (is that right? Or am I underlining my n00bness here, good citizens?) reading this are thinking "Yeah, balloons yadayada *YAWN!*" I hope not. I hope I don't live here so long that such a wonder becomes boring. It feels much as I used to feel when on a clear morning in Portland I would stand on my balcony with my coffee and gaze at Mt. Hood. You get tired of something like that, go find y'self a sturdy shovel and commence ta diggin'. Yer done.
#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#* #*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#
From the bowels of the "Why I'm Hopeless At Nearly Everything" department: Lately I've been regretting not having learned how to play a musical instrument when I was younger, particularly the guitar. I took a class in junior high school -- Lincoln Junior High, in Abilene, Texas -- in an abortive attempt to learn to play the recorder. Stupid name for an instrument, and I proved to be as ham-fisted with that as I did with virtually any tool I'd handled in wood shop (yeah, I sucked at that too). I had good intentions, I approached the task of learning with all seriousness at first (except for the couple of times I tried to practice at home in front of the mirror, standing on one foot a la Ian Anderson, just to see what I looked like; surprise! I looked like a DORK*), but t'was for naught. I'd have made more pleasant noise stepping on a squirrel. The musical bent I apparently had not. After awhile I tried turning the recorder into a blowgun. My parents were somewhat less than proud.
The reason this yen for guitar-god musicianship has reared it's dexterity-deficient head is that the FM rock stations here in the Duke City seem inordinately fond of '80s metal. Heretofore I wasn't really a fan at all, gravitating to the more eclectic fare of KINK 101.9 FM, perhaps Portland's best station. Here I've found no radio station that quite fits that bill, so when in the car or at work (I installed my own stereo in my work room, go me!) I most often listen to one of three interchangeable rock stations, and godz help me, I've aquired a taste for hair metal! If cities had to decide on a song that represented the collective musical tastes of it's citizenry, Albuquerque's would be The Scorpions' "Rock You Like A Hurricane", because if I bounced to and fro between these three radio stations I would hear that song twenty times in one day, I no keed.
Impromptu Top Seven Guitar Godz List, No Particular Order Except The First Two And That's Debatable Between Them (this is SO youtube-lolz-wtf-geeky I wouldn't blame anyone for rolling their eyes and refusing to read it, but d00dz, just RAWK with me kthx):
Jimi Hendricks
Stevie Ray Vaughan
Eddie Van Halen
Jack White
The Edge
Pete Townsend
Skwisgaar Skwigelf
'kay, that is all.
(* This made me feel better, dork-wise. Thanks, Ian. You're still one of my musical heroes.)
Total Comments 0
