The year we disappeared

Tears welling in his eyes would be one sign of the magnitude of this, a rare, visit to town. Tears welling in my eyes is another sign of the profound loss this family has suffered. When some grown bully from your hometown attempts to murder a police officer on his way to work and then the crime goes unresolved by his colleagues and the members of the community you love, what can you say to express your profound disappointment? Now that they are left with nothing else to hope for, in the unresolved- some might say intentionally neglected- case of attempted murder of a police officer, John Busby and his daughter Cylin, wrote a memoir about the event; their life defining event.

Last night myself and some 100 of our townsfolk came to pay our respects and express our shared disappointment, at the first of several book signings here in town. A local reporter was present and I am sure another article will appear in the local paper. The "mystery" "story" of the attempted murder is what will gather the hype of television shows like 48 hours. The local reports for years have detailed the primary suspect's other nefarious acts almost to sake of glorification.

The real story, to me, is how we, the folks from this family's hometown have let them down. They still love this town, as we do, but they can not live here because bullies are allowed- or more repulsively- assisted by town authorities in getting away with attempted murder and more recently murder. The most recent murder in our town, also associated with these bullies, occurred in 2005. The shooting of John Busby was in 1979. Neither crime has ever been brought to trial.

party and stuff

We have decided to host a belated e birthday/end of/indian summa party in September. The idea had been thrown around between e and i for a while and it kind of gained some momentum after james, pictured here, got word of e's birthday and the hint of the word "party". As only james can do, the world was suddenly mobilized, we might be having the announcement of Barack's running mate at the party, the dead were coming back from the dead to play, the rivers would run with beer. It would be epic!

Well thats not what I am here to post about. I am more here to talk about the faces james makes while being photographed. He claims to hate having his picture taken, maybe because "they are all awful." Yet I wonder how this, his patented camera face, is helping? The irony of watching him now run around with his new camera in everyone else's face, for his job, well, it is the stuff you could write screenplays about.

I ask you to go to your nearest mirror and practice the "james camera grimace." This way if you come to our party, and james flashes his camera in your face......

Party details to come....or inquire today.

festival

The Naukabout festival came to town this weekend. We attended mostly to catch up with old friend Ryan Montbleau. This photo of him was taken inside the "band trailer". A humorours stage story was later in the day told by Matt of the Old Silver Band about this trailer. Apparently one of the 14 year old festival volunteers was tasked with "security" for the trailer. He was also around earlier in the summer when the same trailer was used by the Village People before and after their County Fair performance. According to the youth the Village People peed all over the trailer......I for one am still left wondering after all these years which village these peeps really are from?

20

This past weekend featured a celebration of the 20 years passed and the gathering of my high school classmates of 1988. Of our class of ~150 people, ~30, including myself managed to return to our old haunts. We boozed cruised the canal. We ate dinner to Guns and Roses.


Seeing some of these faces for the first time in over 20 years, shocked or pleased some distant part of the brain that is seldom accessed. Personally I do not feel like I am much different than that guy from all those years ago. Sure I am more experienced in someways. I have some knowledge I didn't then, but there are also some things good and bad lost from those days. These lost synapses make me feel a little nostalgic, but not a lot, today is like yesterday,like the days 20 years ago, just another day passed....

A special thanks should go to e for putting up with up all the hoopla.

Lets go!

Beach days are coming to an end. Its cool today. There was rain. My 20 year high school reunion is coming up this weekend. All this somehow seems intertwined.

I don't feel old, as a classmate insinuated, in say the body. I have no aches. There is not discernible difference in my performance at any level. But damn 20 years past anything sounds like a long time. I may not have a sore back but my ears are achy from 20 years reverberating around inside of them.

I want to feel like this

Sting once sang:

they all seem like game show hosts to me

I wonder if you were one of one hundred some odd said hosts in this world; how does this line make you, the game show host, feel?

Chuck? Bob? Alex?

I think I want to feel this way.

Come on down.

Spin the wheel.

You are next!

Dear Debbie

Yesterday, we the family allszplat, visited a local softball game. At the game new friend Debbie said how much she liked the website and these shots. Debbie, I'm sorry I did not respond when you said this. I did hear you. I just feel so awkward when people say they like the work I am doing. You see the problem is, I like it too...I like it a lot, but for me to say that in conversation seems a tad conceited. It's somewhat hard to even write it.

I have gotten better at saying thank you when complimented, but a mere thank you also doesn't seem like enough either, so sometimes like yesterday nothing appropriate comes out. Thank you is what people say when you pick up their dropped keys. It does not seem like the appropriate response to the very fuel of ones passion. How do you appropriately acknowledge the very source of your inspiration, without misrepresenting your gratitude? Thank you Debbie- these shots are dedicated to you and the ones before you and hopefully the people to come who keep the desire to engage each other's passions alive.