Sunday, August 31, 2008

Grace James, Blue Hydrangea (Hydrangea macrophylla), 2008
Friday, August 29, 2008
Mark Haddon, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time:

"Eventually scientists will discover something that explains ghosts, just like they discovered electricity, which explained lightning, and it might be something about people's brains, or something about the earth's magnetic field, or it might be some new force altogether. And then ghosts won't be mysteries. They will be like electricity and rainbows and nonstick frying pans."
Thursday, August 28, 2008

Robert Caro: "As I sit listening to Mr. Obama tonight, I will be hearing other words as well. I will be hearing Lyndon Johnson saying, 'We shall overcome.'"

"The heroism of the march at Selma, the heroism all across the South, the almost unbelievable bravery of black men and women — and children, so many children — who marched, and were beaten, and marched again, for the right to vote, created the rising tide of national feeling behind the passage of civil rights legislation, the legislation not only of 1965 but of 1964 and 1957. That feeling did so much to make the legislation possible. It has taken me scores of pages in my books to try to describe that heroism, and all of them inadequate. But it also took Lyndon Johnson, whom the black leader James Farmer, sitting in the Oval Office, heard 'cajoling, threatening, everything else, whatever was necessary' to get the 1965 bill passed and who, with his legislative genius and savage will, broke, piece by piece, in 1957 and 1964 and 1965, the long unbreakable power of the Southern bloc."

Photojournalism. Kingsway and East Broadway, right now.
Monday, August 25, 2008

Some civilian writes to ask, "What's this snafflehound thing you keep mentioning?"

A: As above. Neotoma cinerea and friends.

(Nc. mugshot courtesy Tvashtarkatena of, the most consistantly entertaining of my regular stops online. Many self-proclaimed big-balled, thick-skinned, plain-talkin' visual arts types would scarcely last a heartbeat in's alternately profane and lyrical atmosphere).

CSA's 2008-9 exhibitions schedule was planned last night in about an hour and a half, with the help of two plates of nachos, delicious beer, and some complicated mixed drinks that apparently originated in Star Wars' cantina scene.

Total cost to Canadian taxpayers: $0.

The relief of not having to interact with the Canada Council, VANOC's Cultural Olympiad, the Office of Cultural Affairs, and numerous other art-bureaucratic time-wasters, hand-holders and report-requesters: priceless.

(Image courtesy "Snap" Tolagson. At lower right, CJB and Steven Tong plot cultural mayhem)
Sunday, August 24, 2008

Red and orange storm-light after rain, torn clouds out over the island.

The jet rocking on descent, brilliant crimson bars spilling across the aisle.

Urk, urk of hydraulics, the flaps retracting over the wings.

A bump and a drop and a bump and a drop.

Approaching the outer marker.

Iona Jetty flashing by below.
"Worse, all those current artists who indulged themselves in actual words -- paintings with words in them, 'photo-text pieces,' video works stuffed with dialogue, and other works requiring more didactic printed material slapped up on the walls than you’d find in a science museum -- weren’t the worst of it; the sin of language was a misdemeanor compared with whole nihilistic roomfuls of abject detritus, installations with more electronic equipment than an arena concert, and hugely expensive wannabe architecture in which designer drugs were somewhat mitigated by the assistance of a structural engineer. Although the artists boasted in the accompanying press material that the art -- what a big tent 'art' was now! -- 'forces the viewer to confront' some geopolitical issue or another, the local stuff, at least, seemed to be made by upper-middle-class kids who could afford the tuition for a Master of Fine Arts degree and then a studio in some rapidly gentrifying quarter of Brooklyn...."
Saturday, August 23, 2008

GPS-Equipped Turtle Busts Public Grow Show

"When a box turtle equipped with a GPS tracking device stumbled into his little outdoor hydroponics lab, the park ranger followed, found his stash and grassed the amateur gardener up to The Law."

Guy screaming at 2am down on the corner.


Screaming Guy's female friend chimes in.


Some citizen jacks his window wide and joins the fray.


Screaming Guy ponders the request.


Another apartment dweller draws a bead on Screaming Guy and lobs something heavy off his balcony. But his aim's off.




The Law arrives to wind things down.


Back to sleep at 4am!
Friday, August 22, 2008

Nooksack Falls in full flood, just off Washington SR 542
Thursday, August 21, 2008

A View, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Why You Should Turn Gmail’s SSL Feature On Now

"Your Browser: Hey there Gmail, I want in. Here’s my encrypted login.

Gmail Servers: Hey there, browser. I see your encrypted login fits what I have here. If you want to keep talking to me, I will need to see proof of your login, but don’t bother encrypting it for me. Here is your unencrypted email.

Your Browser: Great. I want to read this particular email, my Gmail login is: and my password is: monkeylove. My name is John Hanks Doe and my social security number is 123-45-6789.

Gmail Servers: Sure, here you go. I see you are leaving for vacation with the house unlocked this weekend. Say, is this your credit card information?

Guy packet sniffing your wi-fi from Starbucks: Cool!"

(thx dru)

Browsing Corporate Thrift Store's aisles, bright under the big white trays of fluorescent light.

Rain in the parking lot, closer now.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Why Photography Matters as Never Before

"[I]f you don't like what I've done or you believe I'm wrong, you had better be able to offer superior readings of the art in question. I'm happy to leave matters that way for the time being."
Please Take Me Along When You Slide On Down

"AP CHICAGO - Even after more than 30 years, fans are still falling for Steely Dan.

It happened Saturday night in Chicago, when a man trying to slide down a stairwell railing fell two floors during a Steely Dan concert. He was hospitalized in stable condition. His name has not been released.

Police were called to downtown's Chicago Theatre just after 11 p.m. and found the man on the basement floor. Police say he fell from the second floor and hit two other patrons before landing in the basement.

Steely Dan, founded in the early 70s, is in the midst of its 'Think Fast' tour."
Sunday, August 17, 2008

Bicycle Cabled to a Post, 2008

An improvisation after a photograph, not mine, recently exhibited in Vancouver that some friends have heard me complain about at length.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Q: Orange and black mini-scorpions? All over my beans? First aphids, now this. WTF!

INTERNET RESEARCH: Ladybug nymphs, that eat their own weight in aphids every day.
Friday, August 15, 2008
The Sheltering Sky -- live 1982

Working on the balcony at six o'clock in the morning. Grey light, light wind. The tomatoes' coppery scent in my face as I kneel, distributing H20 and kelp emulsion from a green 3L jug that previously held biodegradable laundry soap. I like working around things that silently respond to attention. I once read -- I think it was in Steve Solomon's great Growing Vegetables West of the Cascades -- that garden vegetables and people made a pact long ago, very similar to the one that people and domestic cats made. "We'll give up some of our prickly feral qualities, if you'll take care of us." Or as Solomon says, "You are nature to your vegetables." I don't like working with other people -- collaboration inevitably involves compromise, watering down hard-won core beliefs -- "these fragments shored against my ruin" -- but I like being around living things that demonstrate their appreciation through gesture. The purring cat that turns its head to be scratched; the four foot high balcony tomatoes; the scarlet runner beans that decided to start setting seed while I was away climbing deadfall and are now producing enough pods to keep my whole building in beans for a month.
Thursday, August 14, 2008

Someone phones to ask if I'd like to attend a meeting connected to the 2010 Cultural Olympiad. And is then -- never previously having spoken with me -- discomfited to learn that my curatorial practice excludes going to meetings, not to mention participating in anything even remotely resembling "a transformative arts and culture program that will create memories and legacies to last a lifetime and inspire a generation."
This Just In From Our Hammertown Correspondent

"A lot of pain to find out what everyone knows -- butter improves everything!", sez Pete, viz. mountain climbing alpine bush crashing.

X%v# McParlon Creek Route from Hell
(Trip report posted to
Photographs courtesy Keefer

Q: Why are some peaks climbed only rarely?

A: I had the idea to climb Mount Ethelweard for my August vacation, based on the Salal Creek writeup in 103 Hikes, the admittedly sketchy beta in [out-of-date but comprehensive local climbing guide authored by Bruce] Fairley, and some nice photographs of Athelney Pass posted on the VOC [University of BC Varsity Outdoor Club] website. Then I talked to Dru, who informed me that my 2WD Ford wagon wouldn't make it to the Salal Creek trailhead, and that I would be spending at least two of my vacation days hiking in and out on a logging road, not counting the 18+ klicks to the pass.

Back to the drawing board. I got the federal 1:50,000 (J14) for the northern edge of the range and observed an unnamed creek that drains the north end of the pass and eventually flows into McParlon Creek. Hmm. I posted a trip call which garnered exactly no interest and sent Retreads fleeing in all directions. Maybe the phrase "bag night" had something to do with it.

At any rate, Monday afternoon found [ regular] Keefer and I blazing up Hurley Pass in my old and creaky Ford, locating the Bridge River FSR [Forest Service Road; eg., gravel surface supposedly traversable by 2WD car], and driving 25-km. west of Gold Bridge, above and alongside Downton Lake. Lots of bear activity; we surprised two huge black bears who did not seem particularly eager to get out of our way, nor to see us in the first place. Many rockfall-dodging episodes and creaky bridge crossings later found us parked at the end of the thoroughly deactivated McParlon West FSR.

By now it's late afternoon as our heroes suit up and start the 3.5km. trek to the end of the road, passing through regrown clearcuts full of blueberries, wild raspberries, and bear and cougar scat every five or ten yards. Lots of good views of the mysterious unnamed peaks west of Mount Vayu to the east; views of Salal Peak's icefields (?) to the south, and a huge dark wall of rock with a massive glacial moraine attached to it to the southwest, which might or might not be part of something rising from Athelney Pass.

3.5km. later we reach the end of the logging road and drop steeply to meet the unnamed tributary, which is deep, fast, and, in our judgment, impassable. We turn and begin to gain elevation, paralleling the creek's north bank. We quickly realize why the route doesn't appear in any guidebooks: the hillside is strewn with ponderosa pine blowdown, stacked hither and thither like pick-up sticks, in some places forming five or six foot high stockade walls. As the light fades out of the day we chin ourselves up, over and down this blowdown. Ponderosa bark peels off when you step on it, causing you and your forty-pound multi-day pack to go flailing off the log you're balanced on, and to maybe land on the ground...or, more likely, on top of another log, whose bark also peels, pitching you in a third, totally unanticipated direction...

"We're climbin' up into the JING RANGE, we are." ["Jing" = "Double-plus ungood"]

"JING CREEK, drainin' the JING GLACIER, on the way to JING PASS."

"Maybe [ member and frequent climbing partner] Blair had a crystal ball."

"Ya, he's sittin' home right now, laughing his ass off. 'Bag night. As if!'"

The terrain gets steeper. The creek turns into an admittedly impressive series of huge cascades through a box canyon. Occasionally we run into flagging, laid out in such a manner as to suggest orange tape glued onto the backs of several hundred snafflehounds turned loose to make their own way up the hillside. The blowdown doesn't relent. Two and a half hours to travel less than a kilometer! Finally, just as it gets dark and the moon comes up, our heroes locate a sandy ledge big enough for their tent and turn in for the night.

"I'm not comin' back down through that. NO WAY."


In the morning it's overcast. Our heroes dismantle the tent and plod up what by now is a steep sandy ridge high above the creek. The blowdown dials back a bit, and the flagging improves. In places a weatherbeaten "route," part game trail, part ancient footprints, is visible. The "route" turns southwest, following the creek's upper canyon toward Athelney Pass. Now the sky darkens. Up ahead are impressive views of a series of glaciated towers on the northern end of the pass...until curtains of rain descend, cutting them off from view. (Foreshadowing!) Also up ahead is another bluff-and-forest headwall. The "route" passes through some flat alpine hemlock studded benchland, descends to a gravel bar on the side of the creek, and fades out entirely in marsh and thick riparian greenery. It starts to rain, lightly at first, then gradually picking up steam. Our heroes pitch the tent, climb in, and spend the rest of the cool rainy afternoon napping and watching the water level in the creek rise impressively over the course of a few hours. Lipton pasta-and-sauce fortified with butter, perks their spirits up considerably, and they drift off to sleep listening to the patter of rain on the tent fly.

Wednesday is cloudy but promises improvement. But our heroes, one of whom just spent six days climbing the Golden Hinde [highest mountain on Vancouver Island] with a fifty pound pack, and the other, who is also in reasonable shape, are too stiff and sore to move far from the tent, yet alone contemplate thrashing further up the drainage. So, after breakfast, the tent is dismantled and the party retreats down the creek. The "canyon route" goes quickly, but the steep descent down to the logging road takes even longer than the ascent, with the usual headlong spills off blowdown thrown in for shits 'n giggles.

The 3.5km. walk out to the car in broiling heat is no fun, either, save for the wild raspberries flourishing along the road and a quick detour down to the banks of McParlon Creek to rehydrate and soak off some of the accumulated dirt, sweat and grime.

Lessons and notes:

1. The federal 1:50,000 map sheet (J14) is full of lies and entirely omits significant micro-terrain. Also, despite being purchased at the Co-Op, it appears to have been printed by an inkjet printer on toilet-grade paper. My office HP deskjet produces a better product.

2. BC Basemap at 1:10,000 resolution is surprisingly accurate, but hard to print out.

3. Dried pineapple, bought in bulk from Save-on-Foods in Squampton, turns out to be a tasty wilderness snack.

4. Using butter instead of milk, AND THEN ADDING ADDITIONAL BUTTER, vastly improves Lipton pasta-and-sauce.

5. This was the hardest off-trail travel Keefer and I have ever done in our lives. Don't underestimate blowdown; we would both travel a LONG way to avoid it in the future.

5a. Don't take a 2WD car you care about up the Bridge River FSR.

6. My legs are purple and yellow this morning, and I'm having lots of trouble doing things like tying my shoes and standing up. Nonetheless, lots of JINGTASTIC fun was had by all!

Sunday, August 10, 2008
Woody Herman and Herbie Mann Cover Steely Dan -- just to keep you company while I'm gone. Music to struggle through devil's club to!

(& one more Hayes, 1974's Wonderful, whose surging horns and slowly pacing drums (esp. 0:30-0:50) make me feel better every time I hear it)

CJB and Team Cat are in the Coast Range and offline until Thursday. Pictured above: this week's destination, Mount Ethelweard, which involves a 5 hour drive and 8+ hours of bushwhacking to approach, a glacier crossing, and extensive rock scrambling. First summited in 1972 by kindred spirit John Clarke. No roped climbing, but seldom ascended for obvious reasons.

(Photograph: Mount Ethwelweard's west face at sunset, by Stephen Skog)

WEE HIPSTRESS: I'm looking for the Toilet series?

CJB: The which?

WH: It's by Stephanie Meyer!

CJB: Oh, Twilight?

WH: Whatever!

Farewell soul legend Isaac Hayes, his slow scorching interpretation (on Hot Buttered Soul) of Bacharach and David's Walk On By still a favorite after all these years.

(Another great Hayes Bacharach/David cover here, courtesy Pete)

PULPFICTION STAFF MEMBER JAMES N. [of William Wegman, Man's Best Friend]: What the fuck is up with that guy?

CJB: He's providing a valuable service. [Opens book, kindergarten-storytime style]. Where else are you going to find a photograph of a dog wearing pants?


GOOGLE IMAGE SEARCH: Results 1-18 of about 1,230,000 for dog pants.

CJB: You win!
Saturday, August 09, 2008

"Free stuffed animals." Via Craigslist. I like this picture a lot; something to do with the patio's pebbly texture, the basement refugees in the background (that cardboard carton, propped up on its little legs!), the quality of the light, and some of those upturned sunbathing faces.
Friday, August 08, 2008
ACT (Aesthetically Claimed Thing): No Kids, You Look Good to Me

(thx AH)
Monday, August 04, 2008
High rotation:

Last Tango

Jack the Bear

Jive Samba

Cubano Chant

Reelin' in the Years

Walk on By

Encore, Chateau St. Michelle, in the rain. Is that a rather familiar ballcap dancing in the aisle, just about dead centre? I do believe it is.

Powered by Blogger

.post-title { display: none!important; }