
I have a resume of skills, talents, and responsibilities as long as an ill-written curt note stuck on a cafeteria vending machine, yet I can’t find the time or want to get outside and or write a blog post. Lucky you!

I have a resume of skills, talents, and responsibilities as long as an ill-written curt note stuck on a cafeteria vending machine, yet I can’t find the time or want to get outside and or write a blog post. Lucky you!

After being away for a few days last week, this week has flown by with playing catch-up. In between all that catch-up, I went for a quick walk around Meridian Park on Thursday morning to blow the stink off me.
Well, we’re back from Indiana, and I’m hitting the ground running like a freshly excreted dog turd onto a frosty spring lawn.
The four-day trip into America’s heartland of COVID negligence for a soccer tournament was better than I thought (in that it happened at all) and just as bad as I thought (aforementioned negligence, combined with COVID fuckedupedness and guilt).
I’ll explain a bit.

My time to get out for some junk miles has been very limited as of late due to weather and time, mostly time. There has been too much going on this week, including a 3 day trip to Indiana for the Crossroads of America College Showcase soccer tournament, that at this point (7:30 AM Thursday), we still don’t know if we’re going because of COVID related issues with 1/4 of the team.

My newfound custom of getting up early continued on Sunday, and with that, I got a shit ton of stuff done, including baking some crispy, crunchy toasted homemade muffin bread and installing an Ortleib bag bracket on the Fattishson (The Roscoe’s current name before it becomes a 29er in the future).
Then I decided to ride.

Saturday had no Saturday feel. Why, you ask? No footy to watch. Sure, there was World Cup Qualifying, but no game really spoke to me, and other than the England squad, footy on the world stage lacks the drama and top-class screenwriting of the Premier League; from the BIG 6 all the way down to the bottom three fighting for survival due to the beauty of Promotion/Relegation. Sigh.
So, with a so-called “Saturday” at my disposal, I returned to the Forest Hill Nature Area with my Nikon Z6 camera, a 500mm 600mm lens, a vintage macro lens, and Wifey.

For some reason, I was up at 6:15 on Tuesday morning. I really don’t know why; all I know is that the longer I laid there, the more I thought about other, more constructive things I could be doing. That’s quite a change from two months ago when I was on the cusp of filling out my application to be a professional bed layer. A position I feel I would have excelled at!
I’d like to give big props to the O.G. Mindbender and Mindbender II (The Wrath of Kahn) for getting me out of bed and back feeling like myself again.

Imagine, if you will, the opening credit montage of an early 1990’s British crime series on BBC America. I, the unassuming sheep farmer/pub-goer turned amateur photographer/mystery sleuth, make my way across the green moors of the English countryside with a jaunty spring in my step and a small film camera around my neck as my rambunctious border collie runs ahead doing border collie type stuff. I stop and look out at the rolling green hills in front of me; the camera pans the scene in my gaze before zooming in on my face and a twinkle in my all-knowing sleuthly eye as I light my pipe filled with 100% legal in the State of Michigan kush tobacco and then take a photo with my little jank camera.
Now imagine that absolutely none of that happened.
Note: This is the last SIT. It was a dumb idea, sort of. The pics will now be in Soiled Fotos portfolio under Random.

Life Mission: Art my way through the mundane.
Also, eat yummy food!