Dear Sonny Records,
I been hearin' lately 'bout the resplurgence of country in western music. They say that by the time the light from a star reaches ya, it's already dead. Well, I ain't dead yet. In the large, worn-out suitcase o' my life, I recall one o' the britest moments bein' that time I got a response from my good pal and yours, Chit Akens. He 'n y'all even went so far as to producify a record of my musical compromises to the glee 'n delites of the many publicans who buy such things. I'm writin' to ask that y'all please re-rerelease and if you can find it in the good of yer good cold hearts, mebee even re-mister my album and make it once again avaluable. If y'all need to reach me, I can be consolted and otherwise generally found at or near the Mid-State Appalachian Frog-Giggin' Fair. Or, just ask around Nashville. I'm sure that good pal o' ours, Chit Akens, remembers me very. well.
Thinks again very much,
Don Bowman
Musician and singer
x-strodinair,
your man in trouble
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Thursday, October 25, 2007
La Demi-sœur Exécrable
En grandissant à la campagne d’Oregon, j’avais la bonne chance d’avoir un poney, et la malchance d’avoir une demi-sœur. De plus, j’étais obligée de partager mon poney, Bleu, avec ma demi-sœur, Heather, chaque week-end quand elle venait nous rendre visite. Étant donné que je pensais que Heather voulait être juste comme moi, et que mon beau-père lui donnait tout ce qu’elle voulait, je ne l’aimais pas. Puisque je n’aimais pas ma demi-sœur, et j’adorais énormément mon poney, j’étais rempli de jalousie quand elle le montait. Bien sûr je voulais qu’elle tombe de son dos ! Peut-être par conséquent elle aurait peur de faire du cheval. Généralement, chaque fois qu’elle le montait, je pensais à Bleu avec toute ma puissance «Rue ! Rue !» Mais, obstiné, il ne ruait jamais.
Un jour, ma mère a mis nos chevaux dans la remorque à chevaux, et elle nous a emmenées faire l’équitation avec nos amis. Avant notre départ, j’ai demandé à ma mère «Pourquoi doit-elle venir avec nous ? Elle va crier et pleurer et gâcher le jour !» Elle m’a répondue « Tant pis ! Elle peut monter à l’arrière de moi. Nous ne pouvons pas l’exclure. Elle est ta sœur.» « Elle n’est pas ma sœur, » j’ai grommelé, mais ma mère ne m’a pas entendue.
Nous sommes arrivées à la forêt, et nous avons mis les voiles avec nos chevaux et nos amis. Dans l’ensemble, c’était un jour idéal. Le soleil brillait et la température était très chaude, mais dans la forêt, l’air était plus frais. La forêt était verte et calme sauf le son des sabots et la respiration des chevaux. Ma mère et Heather se promenaient avec les amis de ma mère tandis que je traînais derrière avec mes amis. L’après-midi, nous sommes revenues au parking, d’où nous avions commencé. Nous avons attaché nos chevaux à la remorque, et nous avons commencé à les deseller. Un ami est venu et m’a demandé si je voulais aller au bord du ruisseau pour que nos chevaux puissent boire. «Oui,» j’ai dit, et puisque j’ai déjà dessellé mon poney, j’ai sauté sur son dos comme une Amérindienne. «Puis-je venir ?» Heather m’a demandé, et car j’ai voulu faire plaisir ma mère, j’ai acquiescé. Ma mère l’a aidée à monter, et nous avons descendu une colline jusqu’au ruisseau.
Après que nos chevaux ont bu, nous avons remonté la colline. Au début, Bleu marchait comme j’ai voulu, mais comme nous montions une pente raide, il a commencé à trotter. Heather, qui s’agrippait à moi, a commencé à glisser. «Marche ! Marche ! Ralentis !» j’ai ordonné à Bleu, mais comme il était têtu, il m’a ignorée. En fait, peut être pensant que je l’encourageais, il a trotté plus et plus rapidement, et Heather a glissé plus loin, en me tirant avec elle. «Lâche-moi !» j’ai crié, mais c’était trop tard et nous sommes tombées ensemble au sol. Bleu, libéré des demandes d’une cavalière autoritaire, a continué à trotter joyeusement jusqu'à la remorque. Je me suis relevée et j’ai dépoussiéré mon pantalon. Heather pleurait comme si c’était la fin de sa vie. «Es-tu blessée ?» j’ai demandé, et elle m’a répondue «Non…» Nous avons commencé à monter la colline. J’ai pensé que peut-être elle ne voudrait plus monter mon poney, et je me suis sentie un peu victorieuse.
Néanmoins, lorsque nous sommes arrivées à la remorque, ma mère nous a dit «Vous devez monter votre poney avant que nous partons.» J’ai monté sans peur, puisque j’étais tombée de chevaux beaucoup de fois, et je lui ai fait trotter un cercle. J’ai désarçonné, et Heather a commencé encore à pleurer. «Non, non ! Je ne veux pas monter ! J’ai peur !» Mais, ma mère a dit résolument «Tu dois.» Elle l’a mise sur mon poney. Elles ont marché jusqu'à ce que Heather cesse de pleurer. Je ne me suis plus sentie victorieuse. J’ai appris une leçon ce jour-là: Faites attention aux vœux que vous faites, ils pourraient bien se réaliser - et c’est possible qu’ils n’avaient pas les résultats que vous voulez !
Un jour, ma mère a mis nos chevaux dans la remorque à chevaux, et elle nous a emmenées faire l’équitation avec nos amis. Avant notre départ, j’ai demandé à ma mère «Pourquoi doit-elle venir avec nous ? Elle va crier et pleurer et gâcher le jour !» Elle m’a répondue « Tant pis ! Elle peut monter à l’arrière de moi. Nous ne pouvons pas l’exclure. Elle est ta sœur.» « Elle n’est pas ma sœur, » j’ai grommelé, mais ma mère ne m’a pas entendue.
Nous sommes arrivées à la forêt, et nous avons mis les voiles avec nos chevaux et nos amis. Dans l’ensemble, c’était un jour idéal. Le soleil brillait et la température était très chaude, mais dans la forêt, l’air était plus frais. La forêt était verte et calme sauf le son des sabots et la respiration des chevaux. Ma mère et Heather se promenaient avec les amis de ma mère tandis que je traînais derrière avec mes amis. L’après-midi, nous sommes revenues au parking, d’où nous avions commencé. Nous avons attaché nos chevaux à la remorque, et nous avons commencé à les deseller. Un ami est venu et m’a demandé si je voulais aller au bord du ruisseau pour que nos chevaux puissent boire. «Oui,» j’ai dit, et puisque j’ai déjà dessellé mon poney, j’ai sauté sur son dos comme une Amérindienne. «Puis-je venir ?» Heather m’a demandé, et car j’ai voulu faire plaisir ma mère, j’ai acquiescé. Ma mère l’a aidée à monter, et nous avons descendu une colline jusqu’au ruisseau.
Après que nos chevaux ont bu, nous avons remonté la colline. Au début, Bleu marchait comme j’ai voulu, mais comme nous montions une pente raide, il a commencé à trotter. Heather, qui s’agrippait à moi, a commencé à glisser. «Marche ! Marche ! Ralentis !» j’ai ordonné à Bleu, mais comme il était têtu, il m’a ignorée. En fait, peut être pensant que je l’encourageais, il a trotté plus et plus rapidement, et Heather a glissé plus loin, en me tirant avec elle. «Lâche-moi !» j’ai crié, mais c’était trop tard et nous sommes tombées ensemble au sol. Bleu, libéré des demandes d’une cavalière autoritaire, a continué à trotter joyeusement jusqu'à la remorque. Je me suis relevée et j’ai dépoussiéré mon pantalon. Heather pleurait comme si c’était la fin de sa vie. «Es-tu blessée ?» j’ai demandé, et elle m’a répondue «Non…» Nous avons commencé à monter la colline. J’ai pensé que peut-être elle ne voudrait plus monter mon poney, et je me suis sentie un peu victorieuse.
Néanmoins, lorsque nous sommes arrivées à la remorque, ma mère nous a dit «Vous devez monter votre poney avant que nous partons.» J’ai monté sans peur, puisque j’étais tombée de chevaux beaucoup de fois, et je lui ai fait trotter un cercle. J’ai désarçonné, et Heather a commencé encore à pleurer. «Non, non ! Je ne veux pas monter ! J’ai peur !» Mais, ma mère a dit résolument «Tu dois.» Elle l’a mise sur mon poney. Elles ont marché jusqu'à ce que Heather cesse de pleurer. Je ne me suis plus sentie victorieuse. J’ai appris une leçon ce jour-là: Faites attention aux vœux que vous faites, ils pourraient bien se réaliser - et c’est possible qu’ils n’avaient pas les résultats que vous voulez !
Monday, August 20, 2007
Le Lion et Les Tamanoirs
Il était une fois un lion qui habitait une jungle et qui aimait manger. Puisque c’était très facile d’attraper des tamanoirs, et ils avaient une saveur délectable, c’était sa nourriture préférée. Au début, il en a mangés peu souvent. Mais il avait un appétit insatiable alors il a commencé à manger de plus en plus de tamanoirs jusqu'à ce qu’il ne mangeait que ça.
Ayant peur que le lion mange tous d’eux, les tamanoirs ont envoyé un représentant pour lui convaincre à varier son régime. « Vous ne devez pas manger tous les tamanoirs ! » a crié le tamanoir. « Nous partirons de la jungle si vous continuez à manger trop de nous ! »
«Vous êtes ridicules avec vos longs museaux et vos grandes oreilles ! » a bafoué le lion. « Je vais manger comme je veux ! » Puis le lion a bondi sur le tamanoir et l’a mangé.
Le lion a continué comme d’habitude, jusqu'au jour, peu après, où les tamanoirs ont quitté la jungle. Après quelque temps, la jungle était pleine de fourmis et le lion ne pouvait pas dormir parce que le sol grouillait de fourmis. Il est parti de la jungle pour chercher les tamanoirs, et quand il les a trouvés, il a dit « Je suis désolé ! Depuis que vous êtes partis, il n’y a personne pour manger les fourmis, et les fourmis ont infesté la jungle. J’étais bête de me moquer de vous à cause de votre apparence car vous êtes importantes pour la jungle. Revenez, et je ne mangerai jamais un autre tamanoir. »
Les tamanoirs ont discuté, et ils ont accepté de revenir à la jungle. Mais ils ont dit au lion : « N’oubliez jamais que tout espèce d’animal est important, et que si vous n’avez pas de respect, ils pourraient disparaître et la jungle pourrait tomber en ruine ! »
Quand ils sont revenus à la jungle, les tamanoirs ont eu un grand repas, et le lion n’a plus jamais mangé de tamanoirs.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Inside the Time Machine...
Architects, why must you all be so boring? Why are we still living our lives inside boxes? We've been using the same shape over and over and over again for our shelters since (at least) the Roman times. Isn't it time to maybe incorporate some different geometrical shapes into our structures? And why must everything be so straight? How about some curved walls? Why are there so few adventurous architects out there?!
Last night in my sleep I walked through the most amazing and wondrous city that has (n)ever existed. The buildings were like great ships, sailing over the concrete and through the sunlight. None were square. An angle here, a curve there, and look over there, two buildings, reflecting each other with a little alley dodging in between them, their small fronts expanding to much wider backs, creating a triangle shape when combined. It was as though Escher had drawn all of the buildings, and Gaudi had embellished them, and then they figured out a way to make them obey all laws of physics and yet still seem to break them visually. They twisted openness and closed-ness of space and enclosure and turned a multi-level structure into a multi-tiered cake of light and metal and glass. It was awesome. I wanted to live there.
Architects, why must you all be so boring? Why are we still living our lives inside boxes? We've been using the same shape over and over and over again for our shelters since (at least) the Roman times. Isn't it time to maybe incorporate some different geometrical shapes into our structures? And why must everything be so straight? How about some curved walls? Why are there so few adventurous architects out there?!
Last night in my sleep I walked through the most amazing and wondrous city that has (n)ever existed. The buildings were like great ships, sailing over the concrete and through the sunlight. None were square. An angle here, a curve there, and look over there, two buildings, reflecting each other with a little alley dodging in between them, their small fronts expanding to much wider backs, creating a triangle shape when combined. It was as though Escher had drawn all of the buildings, and Gaudi had embellished them, and then they figured out a way to make them obey all laws of physics and yet still seem to break them visually. They twisted openness and closed-ness of space and enclosure and turned a multi-level structure into a multi-tiered cake of light and metal and glass. It was awesome. I wanted to live there.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Yay! I figured out how to post photos without using Picasa. Um, actually, I guess I should just be honest and admit that if I had actually tried before I would have seen just how easy it is. Anyway, here is a photogram, just for fun. And, well, because I need to do some arranging of my photo scans so they are easy to find.I haven't had alot of time for taking pictures recently. Actually, I've had none. Zip, zero, zilch. Hopefully that will change this term as I will finally *only* be taking 14 credits and working 20 hours a week. Come to think of it...that doesn't seem like I will have much time. Okay, well this summer I will only be working full time, so hopefully I can set up a few little scenarios or go for some walks in neat places. I have ideas...but lack the time for execution.
Friday, October 27, 2006
I live in downtown Portland, in an old apartment building. I was sitting here doing my homework and minding my own business when a flutter of movement on the deck of cards on my table caught my eye. I glanced, then did a double take. A small, definitively furry spider was wiggling his legs at me. It was between one and a half and two centimeters long. Primarily black or dark brown, with tan markings, including a tan v shaped mark on its back. I screamed. I sort of tried to herd him into an area so that I could catch him and throw him out the window but the little bugger was fast. Then the thought occurred to me - I have lived in this area for 26 years and other than pet tarantulas, have never seen a spider that furry here. I mean, it was seriously covered in hair, all over its body and its legs. It looked kind of fat too. I mean, usually spiders look spindly but this sucker was fat and hairy.
I was at a loss what to do, guessing that he is not native and might be
dangerous to myselves or my cats (they like to play with the few spiders that
find their way in here). So I grabbed some paper towels, gathered my strength and will, screamed again, attacked, squealed, ran to the bathroom and opened the paper towels over the
toilet. I've never seen that amount of spider juice in my life.
Eew. Any ideas what it was? Did I kill the poor
bugger for nothing? Please tell me he was a non-native, invasive species and what I did was the better for native Oregon life... I don't generally like to kill spiders; I don't mind them if
they just hang out in the corner or whatever. But this guy was darting all over my space! And although kind of cute in his hairy little way, he looked so out of place that it seemed the only
thing I could do. Besides, it takes someone braver than I to actually catch a spider.
I was at a loss what to do, guessing that he is not native and might be
dangerous to myselves or my cats (they like to play with the few spiders that
find their way in here). So I grabbed some paper towels, gathered my strength and will, screamed again, attacked, squealed, ran to the bathroom and opened the paper towels over the
toilet. I've never seen that amount of spider juice in my life.
Eew. Any ideas what it was? Did I kill the poor
bugger for nothing? Please tell me he was a non-native, invasive species and what I did was the better for native Oregon life... I don't generally like to kill spiders; I don't mind them if
they just hang out in the corner or whatever. But this guy was darting all over my space! And although kind of cute in his hairy little way, he looked so out of place that it seemed the only
thing I could do. Besides, it takes someone braver than I to actually catch a spider.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
You'd think we would have known better...
When my brother and I were teenagers, our mother had a horrid boyfriend named Dan, who got put in jail for drunk driving. He needed to store a few large items, and my mother agreed to let him keep a Datsun 240Z (which my brother later totaled to everyone’s surprise since I was the troublemaker), and a large tow able RV on her property. One day, while my mother was at work, my brother and I were hanging out with a couple of our friends, Mike and Roger. We were mighty curious about what exactly was in the RV, and couldn’t pass up the chance to disrespect Dan by invading his property while he was locked up and couldn’t do anything about it. Besides, we really wanted to find some dirt on him that would make mom finally and forever kick him to the curb. The RV was unlocked, and inside we were disappointed to find nothing of interest – just some moldy carpeting, empty beer bottles and sticky porno magazines. That is, until Roger spied a plastic margarine tub filled with gunpowder. Wouldn’t it be neat to light it and watch it explode, we thought?
We took it out of the RV into the pasture the RV was parked on, and went about figuring out just how to make it explode without hurting any of us. We didn’t have any long matches or incense sticks to light and plant inside the tub with the gunpowder, but my mom had an extensive collection of oil lamps, so I suggested cutting a piece of an oil lamp wick. They agreed it was a good idea, so I ran inside, cut some wick, and ran back out to the field. They were deciding who should light it at this point, and agreed that whoever lit it would need to be able to run like the dickens away from it. That automatically disqualified me, since the others were all taller and faster than myself. Of the three, Mike was the tallest by about 4 inches, so he agreed that he should be the one to do the lighting. We planted the wick inside the tub, and my brother, Roger, and I jogged a good distance away since we weren’t sure how large the explosion would be. “Ready!” we yelled, and watched as Mike bent over to light it. Nothing happened.
“The matches are blowing out before it’s lit!” Mike yelled to us.
“I’ll bring you a lighter!” Roger yelled back, and proceeded to run a lighter over to Mike, and then run back to us. We watched as Mike bent over and the tub and suddenly “BOOM!” the gunpowder exploded and Mike was enveloped in a huge cloud of smoke. “MIKE!” we screamed, and ran toward him with many “Oh my god’s” as he stumbled out of the cloud of smoke.
When we reached him he was shaking his head and rubbing his face, which had just minutes ago been sporting his prized goatee, and was now sporting a pathetic, shriveled 5’o clock shadow. His eyelashes were gone, burnt to a crisp, as were most of his eyebrows. We ascertained that he was okay, but boy oh boy did he smell awful from all that burnt hair. We went inside, where he shaved off what was left of his goatee, and tried to concoct a suitable excuse for my mother about what had happened to his eyelashes and eyebrows. All ideas seemed more ridiculous than the truth, so when she asked what happened to the hair on his face, we simply told her the truth. She lectured us for going into Dan’s RV without his permission, and then said “I guess that will teach you not to play with gunpowder!”
We took it out of the RV into the pasture the RV was parked on, and went about figuring out just how to make it explode without hurting any of us. We didn’t have any long matches or incense sticks to light and plant inside the tub with the gunpowder, but my mom had an extensive collection of oil lamps, so I suggested cutting a piece of an oil lamp wick. They agreed it was a good idea, so I ran inside, cut some wick, and ran back out to the field. They were deciding who should light it at this point, and agreed that whoever lit it would need to be able to run like the dickens away from it. That automatically disqualified me, since the others were all taller and faster than myself. Of the three, Mike was the tallest by about 4 inches, so he agreed that he should be the one to do the lighting. We planted the wick inside the tub, and my brother, Roger, and I jogged a good distance away since we weren’t sure how large the explosion would be. “Ready!” we yelled, and watched as Mike bent over to light it. Nothing happened.
“The matches are blowing out before it’s lit!” Mike yelled to us.
“I’ll bring you a lighter!” Roger yelled back, and proceeded to run a lighter over to Mike, and then run back to us. We watched as Mike bent over and the tub and suddenly “BOOM!” the gunpowder exploded and Mike was enveloped in a huge cloud of smoke. “MIKE!” we screamed, and ran toward him with many “Oh my god’s” as he stumbled out of the cloud of smoke.
When we reached him he was shaking his head and rubbing his face, which had just minutes ago been sporting his prized goatee, and was now sporting a pathetic, shriveled 5’o clock shadow. His eyelashes were gone, burnt to a crisp, as were most of his eyebrows. We ascertained that he was okay, but boy oh boy did he smell awful from all that burnt hair. We went inside, where he shaved off what was left of his goatee, and tried to concoct a suitable excuse for my mother about what had happened to his eyelashes and eyebrows. All ideas seemed more ridiculous than the truth, so when she asked what happened to the hair on his face, we simply told her the truth. She lectured us for going into Dan’s RV without his permission, and then said “I guess that will teach you not to play with gunpowder!”
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