motorcycle

I just did a lap around town on a ’77 Yamaha 200cc oil-burning eardrum-buster. Perma-grin.

I was born into the wrong decade. Or I’ve totally misread my calling and I actually need to fix up and ride around old motorcycles. I’m going with the latter, since it gives me an excuse to daydream about ditching everything to fix up and ride around old motorcycles.

oldie but goodie

 

And…just for good measure, because I’ve never put a video in a post before…one of the best movies. Ever.

photography

Here come seven photos.

Well, actually technically I posted this post after I posted the photos, but if I’d posted this before, then it would show up after…really. I thought this out carefully.

Each has a story, each tells a story. Each is a story.

I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

other

And not a Guinness or corned ham with cabbage within hundreds of miles. And than it comes to mind is that there’s not a bunch of friends here to sit with around the table, drinking Guinness and eating corned ham and cabbage and laughing about protestants and catholics and the Irish and beer.

Same old same old, nothing like want to teach you what little things aren’t really all that little.

That all off my chest, I’m going to go home and change into my green boxers.

funny, photography

Note that the burners are going under all three pots. The fourth burner is going too, making hot cocoa.

Nikon D200 + old school Nikon 28/2.8 e series lens + carbon legged tripod + bounce flash

juggling
Note the pots

 

stories

So here’s what happened to me. First, the parasites got me, and they got me good.

Then, in a beautifully timed attack, my carton of eggs went bad.

All body aches and bad stomach pain and sometimes the full chowder-blow, parasites or bad eggs who knows. But seeing as I wasn’t really recovered from the parasites and I’ve never had parasites before to know, I figured it’s part of the process.

As they say, the best thinking is done in the bathroom. At three in the morning Sunday in the bathroom I set to doing some really good thinking and realized that my carton of eggs was bad.

Up till three in the morning Sunday, I’m pretty sure I’ve never actually felt honest anger in my heart towards a food item.

I threw them in the garbage. But I’m still angry.

I fear that the beloved American Easter traditions will never be the same for me. The next time I see that giant white and pink two-eared harbinger of those hideous illness-bearing ovalish-spheric white weapons disguised in garish pastel-themed paint, the twin-barrel is coming out quicker than you can say Cadbury’s. Three and a half inch magnum.

funny, stories

One-fifty said the woman. Not cool–last time they were one quetzal even, so I got on her caseĀ a bit. Are you sure? They must have gone up, last time they were a quetzal. Are they harder to find now?

I had gone to the market for fruit in the morning, searched for mangoes that looked good, and asked for the price.

She explained the price of the carton and how many, but I really didn’t want to do any mental math at all, so I just nodded and said Ok, I’ll take three.

Four for six quetzals, said the woman quicky. I thought–well, I guess if she’s gonna offer me a deal I oughta take it, so I said Sure, sounds good.

This afternoon as I pulled out the bag of four mangoes and thought about the price, I did a calculation. Six divided by four.

I was about to be frustrated, until I thought about having four mangoes instead of three.

stories

The good: yesterday a little girl, who practically never smiles and has been deaf for four years, lit up the whole exam room with a big ear to ear smile when she heard her own name in her own voice, and I was there to see it.

The bad: after 5 good months, the intestinal parasites (I’m hoping it’s them, otherwise I blew $5 on meds for nothing) finally got me, and they got me good.

The ugly: last night a bunch of people were in my house and made a huge mess of the kitchen, ate half of my bread, drank my tea, used my mug and didn’t wash it and used up my margarine. And they left the bread bag open. Not cool.