• Schmotography

    I have a camera too, you know.
    This composition is called “Another Forecast Screw-up”. In it we see a local weatherman staring at the snow he didn’t predict. He is bent under the heavy guilt and curses of the TV viewers. The sculptor expressed heavy burden of being a failed meteorologist through the tense back muscles and a somber pose. Viewer could almost feel the weatherman thinking: “I should have listened to my parents and went to a law school”.
    Stone, snow, shuttlecocks. Author unknown.

    The next composition is called “Flower Power Melts The Snow”.
    Rusted Car, Snow, Trees. Donated by D&C Scrapyards.

    This photo is called “See a Man About A Horse”. In it we observe three major components: a group of submerged lights which signify the word “see”, a man and a horse. The lights are submerged in the vessels with water. The artist wanted to show how electric hazard affects the other components of the composition. Does it scare a man? A horse? We don’t know.The calmness reflects the thought that the man and the horse in the photo don’t know anything about electric safety. Maybe the horse actually knows something because it’s looking away. The man is clueless though.

    Man, Horse, Electric Hazard. Donated by the Fire Department.

    Lastly, I took this photo of a journal where visitors are encouraged to leave their thoughts.
    No Comment.

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  • Kansas City Billboard: PBR

    I had to do a double-take on this billboard today, it looked too much like graffiti frequently seen around the area.

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  • You’ve Been Ah Warned!

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  • Depression Foods

    My Mom was at the grocery store the other day buying beef tongue and attracted attention of some older lady who told her that her kids were recently asking her what people ate during the Great Depression; seeing the tongue in my Mom’s cart reminded her about eating it in her childhood.

    Today Consumerist brought up the subject of increased demand for organ meats in the U.K. What people eat always fascinates me mostly because our acceptance of different foods is not a matter of taste but of a cultural upbringing. People who just a minute ago were describing the delicate taste of snake will make puking noises when they see me eating tongue. Someone who likes possum, turtle, armadillo will cringe when they see me eat beef liver and so on.

    In this country organ meats are often more expensive than regular beef, pork and chicken, so calling them “Depression Foods” is somewhat of a stretch, they are more of a delicacy for us.

    There are not many irregular food stuffs that I will eat: beef or chicken liver, chicken gizzards, beef tongue; nothing else too weird comes to mind. I like duck, I eat turkey and rabbit but very rarely. I tried a brain sandwich once without knowing what it was and it was delicious, but I will probably never knowingly volunteer to eat it again. I recently got a comment about eating smoked but otherwise uncooked bacon. I like salt-cured uncooked fish, smoked fish and dried fish. I can drink a raw egg. My Dad ate beef lungs, kidneys and whale meat when it was still sold in the USSR. This is probably as exotic as it gets in my family. I don’t have any valid reason for not trying other things except always popular “it’s disgusting!”, but I will understand how you feel about me grimacing when you talk about eating snails or whatever else you like, I get the same look when ordering tongue taco at the Mexican restaurant. Maybe some day I will become more open to eating other things, hopefully by choice and not by necessity, until then I am interested in what unconventional foods you find irresistible.

    Note:deer meat is pretty conventional around here, unless you eat some non-meat parts of the deer it doesn’t count.

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  • Where Rail Crosses Trail

    When the weather forecast for the weekend was published few days ago, I knew it was time to get out of town for few hours. Nothing clears out the mind like two hundred miles in rural Kansas on a first sunny and warm Sunday of the year. I started to look for a place to visit on the best Kansas travel resource but nothing grabbed my eye, so I just looked at the map and noticed a place called Admire, KS. I knew I had to go there and admire it.

    U.S. Route 56 leaves Olathe, passes through the armpits of Johnson County known as Gardner and Egderton and makes its way towards Oklahoma through the fields as far as the eye can see. Rolled down windows let the fresh air in and the smell of old hay, burning leaves and an occasional skunk filled up my lungs. I was on the way to Admire.
    By the way, have you ever been to Scranton, KS?

    Now you have.
    Much more interesting is the town of Burlingame down the road.

    Burlingame looks like a worn out Mayberry…

    …where Aunt B’s is the name of a restaurant.

    Aunt B’s niece is getting married next week, so you’ll have to eat elsewhere.

    Flower arrangements by Missy’s Flower Shop.

    Meat for the wedding is already stored in the Meat Locker.

    The Wedding announcement will be published in the cleverly named Newspaper (founded in 1863).

    On the guest list is the frequent customer and an old-timey lawyer…

    …who enjoys spending his lunch hour from 12 to 1 at Aunt B’s.

    Miss Jandi and her students will also be in attendance.

    Cheer-leading poodles are the only advertisement for her business.

    Church is conveniently located around the corner.

    Burlingame will have to wait for another visit, when I may be able to solve the mystery of the piano keys above the tire shop windows.

    I still had a long way to Admire.

    People in these parts still keep cannons in their front yards, just in case.

    Finally I was close to my goal. While taking this photo I drove into something that I can still smell on my car and can only describe as putrid.

    Admire was right in front of me.

    At least it was a god-fearing town.

    High school looks little over-sized for the population of 117 (0.56% Native American, 0.56% from other races, and 3.39% from two or more races. 1.13% of the population were Hispanic or Latino of any race.) That’s .65 of a Native American, must be handicapped or something.

    Every tall structure begs you to admire it.

    Last Chance Cafe is the best and the only pizza deal in town.

    Another water tower was built mainly to display the town’s name.

    I had a short drive to Emporia…

    …where Jesus Christ wanted me to stop and accept him. Sadly there was no parking.

    A friendly cock pointed the way home.

    I felt tired but refreshed at the same time. With my head cleared up I settled down on the couch thinking about the roads, small towns, open spaces and partial Native Americans.

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