Sunday, April 17, 2011

La Chute (fra)

Untitled by gumby*
Untitled, a photo by gumby* on Flickr.

Merci, babelfish

Merci, babelfish by gumby*
Merci, babelfish, a photo by gumby* on Flickr.

The Farmer's Daughter- Jim Harrison

Anansi Press, Canada

I <3 Getty & Random House

I  by gumby*
I , a photo by gumby* on Flickr.

el hacha (Hatchet) esp

el hacha (Hatchet) by gumby*
el hacha (Hatchet), a photo by gumby* on Flickr.

book cover (de)

Untitled by gumby*
Untitled, a photo by gumby* on Flickr.

Monday, March 05, 2007


My creation
Originally uploaded by gumby 1.
I have disappeared into Flickr.
Come visit...

Saturday, December 23, 2006

Photo Tuesday Update
Because I would much rather that someone else remember what day it is.


Wednesday, December 13, 2006

Photo Tuesday

After having viewed the weekly entrants at Photo Friday for several months, I realised that not only did I not have anything worthy of entering, but I wasn't (and would never be) a serious enough photographer to meticulously record the appropriate technical information accompanying the entries.

To avoid artistic discouragement, and celebrate a specific genre of the photographic arts, I would like to announce the inaugral Photo Tuesday. Every Tuesday, or at least the ones when I remember what day of the week it is, I will announce a topic. Post a photo relating to the topic, and in a week the winner will be chosen at random. I imagine I have a good shot at taking home the top prize every week, and it will have nothing to do with photographic prowess or lack thereof.

Good luck!

Today's topic is;


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Friday, December 08, 2006

World Peace

It is what every individual wishes for at this time of year.
Beauty contestants, young children, and even George Bush might have this on his little list of Things I'd Like To See Under The Tree.
Chances are none of us will get it, and that the dreams we have will remain just that.
But it is a noble thing, this desire for goodness and harmony, and we must never give up hope that someday the world will be a better place, no longer fraught with discord.
God speed.
I, too, have my own abbreviated list, which includes the cure for AIDS, the end to World Poverty, and goodwill towards man. Perhaps it couldn't all fit in the sled, maybe the address was smudged. I'm not going to quibble. But in the interest of hope and faith, I will re-enter my list, which is brief.

1.Atlas Shrugs
Santa...that's him, beating the Queen's Plate (that's a Gr.1, Santa) winner Edenwold from off the pace in the $150,000 Queenston Stakes at Woodbine. A tenacious colt. I'd say a scrappy little bastard, but it is a religious holiday and that might been taken as a negative, even though it isn't.
He was in a 80K claiming race a few months ago, which means that his owners didn't want him anymore, which makes him virtually an orphan, which dovetails nicely with my seasonal be-nice mentality.
An orphan.
The thought brings a tear to my eye.
Santa, just remember...I donated to PETA.
I didn't scream at that gentleman on the cell phone driving the Navigator who nearly ran me off the road. Remember? I said, "snap" Santa, and that has to count for something this time of year.
Atlas Shrugs, 3yo colt, Reade Baker trained.
Could you also throw in a few years board and training? You wouldn't believe how it adds up!

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Tuesday, November 28, 2006


Most people I know are loath to admit they have read the da Vinci Code. If they do crack, it is usually prefaced with a complicated explanation as to why. The dog ate the Milton, I found it in the park under a pile of leaves, I was building a perpetual motion machine in my garage and thought it might help...
But they do crack, eventually, if only to explain why it was such a horribly written book. Has anyone out there read only the first half? The first ten pages?

What happens when you are reading a blog which you know to be beneath you, but you can't help but be inspired by a particularly ridiculous statement, experiencing that thrill when sincerity, arrogance and stupidity collide in a perfect storm?
How do you justify your presence?
Michael Kinsey did, in an editorial, with an offhand, "While I was bored and reading random blogs..."* before going on to comment on the blog's inanity.
He can get away with slumming, because he is Michael Kinsey, and otherwise a busy man. If he was caught snooping around a Britney Spears fanblog, he could very smoothly spin it into punditry.
With that in mind, there are a few convenient options when commenting on a blog. Anonymous is useful to some, for a variety of reasons. You might be posting something insulting, or alternately, you cannot refrain from posting a comment wonderfully erudite, but you would be mortified if anyone knew you had been there.

"I did not have sex with that woman." Poor Bill, slumming. He should have posted anonymously.

*No, I do not have the link. Ich bin ein Luddite.


Thursday, November 23, 2006

Losing My Religion

Devotion is a curious thing. Those that leave the flock are spiritual lepers, doomed to an eternal hell that even Dante may have underestimated.
But belief must be maintained if one is to remain in the light. The path must be followed.
I have not been smitten, stoned or turned to salt for my transgressions, and the skies have not opened to claim me.
The strangest part for me is that my lapse is total, and I hardly even noticed. Is that the way it works? I used to be blessed, surrounded by my fellow worshippers in a congregation of the chosen who reaped the harvest of the earth while others slept, long before the opening bell.
Once upon a time, I would listen rapt as Sylvia from Frankfurt spoke the gospel from afar in a strangely moving accent, and a shiver would travel down my spine when the earnest Mormonesque David Faber recited breathlessly the devotional poetry of ebitdas.
I used to study the face of Alan Greenspan for clues to my beloved, but even this ageless prophet, having thoroughly converted me with his cautious yet inspiring revelations, has disappeared with his sacred briefcase from the Mount.
All that remains of this previously ecstatic relationship is a tidy sheaf of computer-generated correspondence, the last and final testament to a love that lasted through, and strengthened in spite of, plague and pestilence.
Sometimes, in the throes of a fitful sleep, I hear voices murmuring like the rubbing beads of a rosary,
" forex forex...".