Saturday, October 05, 2013
"The border swath comes up quickly enough and there are lots of recent writings in the Monument 78 log book (it's peak season for [Pacific Crest Trail] thru hikers, averaging 8-10 entries/day, with as many as 19 on one day!). Most scribblings were classic introspective moments, with a smattering of Townes Van Zandt quotes and the occasional homage to [Dru] Brayshaw. Ever wondered what 5 months of hiking will do to your brain?"
Friday, October 04, 2013


"The lobby of the Castle has no visible doors to the interior, and visitors must say a secret phrase to a sculpture of an owl to gain access."
Degrees of Gray in Philipsburg
by Richard Hugo

You might come here Sunday on a whim.   
Say your life broke down. The last good kiss   
you had was years ago. You walk these streets   
laid out by the insane, past hotels   
that didn’t last, bars that did, the tortured try   
of local drivers to accelerate their lives.   
Only churches are kept up. The jail   
turned 70 this year. The only prisoner   
is always in, not knowing what he’s done.

The principal supporting business now   
is rage. Hatred of the various grays   
the mountain sends, hatred of the mill,   
The Silver Bill repeal, the best liked girls   
who leave each year for Butte. One good   
restaurant and bars can’t wipe the boredom out.   
The 1907 boom, eight going silver mines,   
a dance floor built on springs—
all memory resolves itself in gaze,
in panoramic green you know the cattle eat   
or two stacks high above the town,   
two dead kilns, the huge mill in collapse   
for fifty years that won’t fall finally down.

Isn’t this your life? That ancient kiss
still burning out your eyes? Isn’t this defeat
so accurate, the church bell simply seems
a pure announcement: ring and no one comes?   
Don’t empty houses ring? Are magnesium   
and scorn sufficient to support a town,   
not just Philipsburg, but towns
of towering blondes, good jazz and booze   
the world will never let you have
until the town you came from dies inside?

Say no to yourself. The old man, twenty   
when the jail was built, still laughs   
although his lips collapse. Someday soon,   
he says, I’ll go to sleep and not wake up.   
You tell him no. You’re talking to yourself.   
The car that brought you here still runs.   
The money you buy lunch with,
no matter where it’s mined, is silver   
and the girl who serves your food
is slender and her red hair lights the wall.

Wednesday, October 02, 2013
Our Upper East Side Correspondent Writes

"Walter was sick so he left before Deacon Blues, he had a fever Donald told us and it was the first time he didn't finish a concert.

Donald said he should be ok for Thursday.

Lets hope so.

Get well Walter."
Monday, September 30, 2013

Famous Horror Movie Locations on Google Street View

"Not all movies are shot in studios or on sound stages. In fact, many of the most famous horror movies were filmed in real-world locations that you can still drive by and visit today. And if you can drive by them, so can Google. Here are some recognizable horror movie locations captured on Google Street View and Google Maps."

Dear Jesus. I will see you soon. Your friend, America. PS. I hope you will still have some vacancies by the end of the week.
Safety Alert from the Local Merchants' Association

A masterpiece of WTF.  Not "driving while black," but definitely close, laden with extraneous (but sharply-observed) detail:

"We had a man come in similar to the one who shoplifed from the hat store a month back.

He was wearing black baggy pants, a black sports jersey over his shirt.  He had gold square earrings, glasses and a red hat with a bull on it (not a redbull drink hat).  He had two small star tattoos on the corner of his eyes and writing under his eyes.

He sat [sic] some wine and a large gift bag with what my coworker believed to be 'Echo' branded items.  They didn't look like they should be in a bag like that.

He didn't take anything, just was acting a little odd."

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