remember when i spent an entire year playing 'music' for a certain byu performing group? remember when i sold myself for a year just to get a free trip to china? the experience there, and other places, has led me to ask some questions regarding the state of mormon music, and more broadly, mormon art.
first, what, exactly defines mormon pop music? which part of that style of music makes it fit into that genre? is it even possible to create quality mormon pop? there is plenty of quality popular music in the 'secular' music world. however, i have yet to encounter creative, innovative, original mormon pop music (with one exception being ryan shupe's 'walk the walk'). more often than not, talent, virtuosity, and creativity are traded for trite, cliche, and cookie-cutter formulas that are easy-pleasing and even easy-listening. the mormon popular music genre does nothing to challenge its listeners; it does nothing to truly express--it seems--deep and complex emotions that truly reflect the faith required to stay strong in a complicated, rich religion during a complicated time. what is needed to create quality in mormon pop music?
second, the state of serious music is perhaps in a slightly better state in the mormon art world, but not much. it seems in the church as a whole, mormon pop music is overtaking serious mormon music. exceptions include mack wilberg, barlow bradford, robert cundick, and murray boren. but it also seems that few people in the church as a whole even know mos of those names, except for mack wilberg. his music is good, published by oxford university press, but still has a populist pull and steers clear of serious modern music in its orchestration and arrangement.
why is it that in the mormon world, or even in salt lake city, serious music has yet to really catch on? is it the price? are mormons too cheap? certainly the utah symphony has problems selling out, but everyone flocks to the free concerts given by the orchestra at temple square. are we too cheap? or is it that we simply don't understand music? we don't understand everything that goes in to creating serious, modern music? is the solution a series of educational programs?
even the orchestra from temple square is sufffering from this populist turn. if you ask members of the orchestra at temple square, they will tell you that their work is more of accompiament to the choir than creating serious music. they are dissatisfied with this musically, but support it in the missionary sense of the mormon tabernacle choir.
last, i wonder why serious mormon musicans do not really participate in the mormon music scene. if you are a serious classical or jazz musician, you are most likely not involved in mormon music; rather, you are busy in the wider classical music world trying to make a living. the same goes for pop musicians who are creating original work. see, for example, my brother's favorite musician, brandon flowers. how do we make it possible for these types of people to be a part of the mormon music world, perhaps not exclusively, but at least peripherally.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Friday, August 10, 2007
tiny masters of today
hi. hi. hi.
i don't like to do this (give a report of a concert i attended), but this time i just can't resist. i mean, the yeah yeah yeahs were great and everything when i saw them at webster hall on tuesday. i love them, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. yes, it was great, and yes karen o did scream into the mic while she was pretending to eat it.
but i want to talk about the tiny masters of today. i could write a bunch of stuff and pretend to be witty and cool. i could also pretend i know so much about rock and roll and the ny music scene, but i really don't. so just check out this little band--they aren't the most talented in the world, but they were great and everybody loved them at the show. the kids twelve and the girl is 10. and they are punk rock in its most innocent (is that possible?) and pure form.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Monday, June 11, 2007
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Monday, March 19, 2007
engaged, underage, bridezilla
a couple of weeks ago a coworker mentioned the mtv, engaged and underage reality show. she talked of a mormon couple. today i found it on the mormon stories site, and everyone must watch it.
To watch the episode, click here and then click on the “Engaged and Underage: Episode 6" view all.
why don't we just let these kids get married civily and then later that day seal the deal in the temple?
To watch the episode, click here and then click on the “Engaged and Underage: Episode 6" view all.
why don't we just let these kids get married civily and then later that day seal the deal in the temple?
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Utah Family Offended at Son´s Absence from Family Blog
Sources confirmed Saturday that a Utah family was incredibly offended at son´s and brother´s refusal to comment on family blog. "It feels like Stephen doesn´t love us anymore," commented the mother. "It´s been an entire week and he hasn`t posted a single thing." Patricia Frandsen, a local homemaker and child rearer, interviewed just after she rechecked the blog, claims that her son´s refusal to post is a slight not only to her, but to the entire family. Frandsen also said, "It´s his passive-aggressive way of telling us he doesn´t like the comments we are leaving. Or is it that he doesn´t like us? Does he like us? Oh...I just wish he would get married."
"Ever since stephen moved to New York he has become aloof, liberal, and above doing anything with his family," commented Libby Frandsen-Jones, Stephen´s sister and frequent commenter on the blog. Tracy Frandsen, the blog´s author, agreed and added, "At first he stopped calling daily, then he stopped coming home for the weekly sunday dinner, and now he stops commenting on the family blog. What`s next? Join the aclu, leave the church and vote for hillary clinton?"
"Ever since stephen moved to New York he has become aloof, liberal, and above doing anything with his family," commented Libby Frandsen-Jones, Stephen´s sister and frequent commenter on the blog. Tracy Frandsen, the blog´s author, agreed and added, "At first he stopped calling daily, then he stopped coming home for the weekly sunday dinner, and now he stops commenting on the family blog. What`s next? Join the aclu, leave the church and vote for hillary clinton?"
Jonathan, Stephen´s younger brother, who recently started his own blog, added "When i first came home from my mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Stephen was listening to Rage Against the Machine. Now he is 25, unmarried, and he refuses to comment on the family blog."
The family blog, started just over three weeks ago, has attracted a large amount of attention from the Frandsen Family. The blog has taken the virtual place of once-weekly-held ´heritage nights,´ and is a forum where Tracy Frandsen can post his weekly letter, and the rest of the family can comment, correct, or cajole at will.
A success by any standard, the web log fetched 104 comments from its first post. The second week, when the second post only attracted 76 comments, Frandsen complained to his friend, Madison Sowell, that perhaps he should stop posting on his blog, because of waining support from its readership. The Frandsen Family responded fiercely with 79 comments, giving Frandsen capital to spend, eventually resulting in a post, two weeks later, that was written from the point of view of the family dog, an annoying, ugly little mut. The week previous to that, when Stephen Frandsen failed to comment, the blog only received 52 comments.
"I think its pretty obvious that two weeks ago, the small number of comments on the blog was due to Stephen´s neglect," said Paul Frandsen, caught just before mountain biking down a steep and dangerous hill with his daughter strapped to his somach, and his other daughter and son in a trailer behind his $2500 bike. "But I´m not mad or anything. I called him to have him confirm or deny some news that leaked out in the comments. He denied (I knew he would) and he let me know that he hadn´t had time to formulate any comments."
Stephen Frandsen was out of the country and could not be reached to comment; however, it is clear that the declining number of comments warrants some serious soul searching on the part of both the blog´s readership, and its author.
The family blog, started just over three weeks ago, has attracted a large amount of attention from the Frandsen Family. The blog has taken the virtual place of once-weekly-held ´heritage nights,´ and is a forum where Tracy Frandsen can post his weekly letter, and the rest of the family can comment, correct, or cajole at will.
A success by any standard, the web log fetched 104 comments from its first post. The second week, when the second post only attracted 76 comments, Frandsen complained to his friend, Madison Sowell, that perhaps he should stop posting on his blog, because of waining support from its readership. The Frandsen Family responded fiercely with 79 comments, giving Frandsen capital to spend, eventually resulting in a post, two weeks later, that was written from the point of view of the family dog, an annoying, ugly little mut. The week previous to that, when Stephen Frandsen failed to comment, the blog only received 52 comments.
"I think its pretty obvious that two weeks ago, the small number of comments on the blog was due to Stephen´s neglect," said Paul Frandsen, caught just before mountain biking down a steep and dangerous hill with his daughter strapped to his somach, and his other daughter and son in a trailer behind his $2500 bike. "But I´m not mad or anything. I called him to have him confirm or deny some news that leaked out in the comments. He denied (I knew he would) and he let me know that he hadn´t had time to formulate any comments."
Stephen Frandsen was out of the country and could not be reached to comment; however, it is clear that the declining number of comments warrants some serious soul searching on the part of both the blog´s readership, and its author.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
the lamb
so while i was home in utah, i found my old journal. inside i found this picture and this description. now you know i wasn't lying about the lamb.
Monday, December 04, 2006
ozzie the lamb
i went to church on sunday (can you believe it?) and garret hill gave another great lesson. however, something always strikes me wrong when people at church talk about sheep. i have never been able to pin down the problem--until garret shared a story about a young man who raised a bummer lamb, and was grief-stricken when his little lamb died in a storm due to the neglect and selfishness.
i raised bummer lambs once--and sadly it destroyed my ability to ever connect with the 'feed my sheep' metaphor. in high school and college i occasionally told people i participated in 4-h. inevtably, people like my cousin peter would mock and scorn. but i told them that it was more than working on the farm--we learned photography, public speaking, participated in talent shows, and cooked dough boys for the state fair (i guess my mom figured there had to be some way to boost her children's self esteem--and a blue ribbon at the state fair for expertly cooked snickerdoodles or dough boys was as good a way as any (a dough boy, by the way, is a delectable treat cooked by spreading dough around a thick stick and roasting it over an open fire, then smothering the cooked dough in butter and brown sugar.)). i spent a good part of my young adulthood arguing to others that just because i am from Spanish Fork does not necessarily make me a hick. the following story, however, proves that i was indeed part of the 4-h (the h's stand for head, heart, hands, and hicks, i think).
i was quite young when this happened and almost the only things i remember are severely traumatic. for a genius-idea of a 4-h project, our family decided to raise bummer lambs. one of the lambs was named ozzie (in honor of the great shortstop ozzie smith, of course, but that part is not traumatic). i can't remember the second lamb's name but i'm sure paul remembers. i think he had a special connection with these little lambs. we were pretty excited about the bummer lambs, so we put up chicken fencing around a small part of the pasture that stood in front of our old house (because that's what we usually do when we get excited).
as part of our 4-h duty, every day we had to feed the bummer lambs. so the kids of the house filled large, tall glass sprite bottles with milk, attached a bottle-top pacifier thing on top, and held the bottles through the chicken fencing while ozzie and the unnamed bummer lamb drank to their content. the best part of the feeding, however, came after the lambs sucked the bottles dry. these glass bottles were incredibly durable and could easily withstand the duress that comes from high-speed contact with grass and other dirt-packed ground. paul, jonny, and i liked nothing more than throwing the bottles against the grass to see who could make them bounce farther and more. libby, who was still in diapers, decided to join the festivities from time to time (paul, am i telling this story correctly?) anyway, libby got in the way of one of our contests, and the bottle ended up in between her eyes. screaming, blood, and black eyes were parts that made up my first traumatic experience with bummer lambs.
eventually ozzie and the unnamed one were full-grown. i don't remember if anyone came with me, but i think i was with my dad when we took the lambs to the auction. little did i know we were selling the sheep to their death. i remember sitting in the stands, watching ozzie walk on the auction block; as he came out, ozzie struggled with the auctioneer as the bidding started. i watched, delighted as the farmers and ranchers in the crowd bid on his ripe and fertile meat. the bidding nearly reached $125, and i was ecstatic that our hard work paid off. it was great...i spent an entire summer making a friend named ozzie, and then, in the fall, i was able to sell him off for over $100. i didn't understand why we didn't get more bummer lambs and get ourselves a bummer lamb industry started.
i hadn't though about this macabre scene until garret told the story on sunday about a man that accidentally killed his own bummer lamb through neglect and selfishness. later, when he was called to home teach, he was set on compensating his former bad behavior by fulfilling his responsibility. what about me, though? i purposely sent my lamb to his death. it wasn't through neglect and laziness. i raised this lamb for the direct purpose of profit and death. i can imagine ozzie saying to the unnamed one, 'i am going like a lamb to the slaughter, but i'm calm as a summer's morning. if you see stephen, tell him i forgive him, because he doesn't know what he's doing'. for that reason, i'm scared every time i get a home teaching assignment. look out home teachees, soon you'll be at a spanish fork auction, sold for $125 and made into tasty lamb chops. and the entire time my dad (my original home teaching companion) will be at my side, proud of his son's 4-h handiwork.
the trauma doesn't stop there. once, we were in gunnison, utah, on my grandpa's farm hunting pheasants. every year we tromp up the main ditch and usually we actually see some roosters. then a few of us make a futile trip to the now-waterless ponds. for some reason, we always think there will be pheasants, but there never are. although i do remember brian, my cousin, shooting a pheasant at the pond, but i think that only happened because he bought 30 pheasants and planted a few at the usually-unsuccessful spot. my dad and i were hunting the perimeter and we heard bleating coming from the west bank of the pond. we found a lamb sick and lying on its side, unable to move. my dad the farmer/doctor somehow determined the lamb was beyond recovery and decided we needed to put it out of its misery. so he shot it with his 12 gauge in the head. as he turned i saw him wipe a tear out of his eye. i wasn't so much traumatized by seeing my dad cry (he cried at the end of cars, akeelah and the bee, and the fast and the furious (probably)), but by the fact that every time i came in contact with sheep, they died. and most of the time i am with my dad. so when i hear the call, 'feed my sheep' i grow extremely worried for the sheep.
i raised bummer lambs once--and sadly it destroyed my ability to ever connect with the 'feed my sheep' metaphor. in high school and college i occasionally told people i participated in 4-h. inevtably, people like my cousin peter would mock and scorn. but i told them that it was more than working on the farm--we learned photography, public speaking, participated in talent shows, and cooked dough boys for the state fair (i guess my mom figured there had to be some way to boost her children's self esteem--and a blue ribbon at the state fair for expertly cooked snickerdoodles or dough boys was as good a way as any (a dough boy, by the way, is a delectable treat cooked by spreading dough around a thick stick and roasting it over an open fire, then smothering the cooked dough in butter and brown sugar.)). i spent a good part of my young adulthood arguing to others that just because i am from Spanish Fork does not necessarily make me a hick. the following story, however, proves that i was indeed part of the 4-h (the h's stand for head, heart, hands, and hicks, i think).
i was quite young when this happened and almost the only things i remember are severely traumatic. for a genius-idea of a 4-h project, our family decided to raise bummer lambs. one of the lambs was named ozzie (in honor of the great shortstop ozzie smith, of course, but that part is not traumatic). i can't remember the second lamb's name but i'm sure paul remembers. i think he had a special connection with these little lambs. we were pretty excited about the bummer lambs, so we put up chicken fencing around a small part of the pasture that stood in front of our old house (because that's what we usually do when we get excited).
as part of our 4-h duty, every day we had to feed the bummer lambs. so the kids of the house filled large, tall glass sprite bottles with milk, attached a bottle-top pacifier thing on top, and held the bottles through the chicken fencing while ozzie and the unnamed bummer lamb drank to their content. the best part of the feeding, however, came after the lambs sucked the bottles dry. these glass bottles were incredibly durable and could easily withstand the duress that comes from high-speed contact with grass and other dirt-packed ground. paul, jonny, and i liked nothing more than throwing the bottles against the grass to see who could make them bounce farther and more. libby, who was still in diapers, decided to join the festivities from time to time (paul, am i telling this story correctly?) anyway, libby got in the way of one of our contests, and the bottle ended up in between her eyes. screaming, blood, and black eyes were parts that made up my first traumatic experience with bummer lambs.
eventually ozzie and the unnamed one were full-grown. i don't remember if anyone came with me, but i think i was with my dad when we took the lambs to the auction. little did i know we were selling the sheep to their death. i remember sitting in the stands, watching ozzie walk on the auction block; as he came out, ozzie struggled with the auctioneer as the bidding started. i watched, delighted as the farmers and ranchers in the crowd bid on his ripe and fertile meat. the bidding nearly reached $125, and i was ecstatic that our hard work paid off. it was great...i spent an entire summer making a friend named ozzie, and then, in the fall, i was able to sell him off for over $100. i didn't understand why we didn't get more bummer lambs and get ourselves a bummer lamb industry started.
i hadn't though about this macabre scene until garret told the story on sunday about a man that accidentally killed his own bummer lamb through neglect and selfishness. later, when he was called to home teach, he was set on compensating his former bad behavior by fulfilling his responsibility. what about me, though? i purposely sent my lamb to his death. it wasn't through neglect and laziness. i raised this lamb for the direct purpose of profit and death. i can imagine ozzie saying to the unnamed one, 'i am going like a lamb to the slaughter, but i'm calm as a summer's morning. if you see stephen, tell him i forgive him, because he doesn't know what he's doing'. for that reason, i'm scared every time i get a home teaching assignment. look out home teachees, soon you'll be at a spanish fork auction, sold for $125 and made into tasty lamb chops. and the entire time my dad (my original home teaching companion) will be at my side, proud of his son's 4-h handiwork.
the trauma doesn't stop there. once, we were in gunnison, utah, on my grandpa's farm hunting pheasants. every year we tromp up the main ditch and usually we actually see some roosters. then a few of us make a futile trip to the now-waterless ponds. for some reason, we always think there will be pheasants, but there never are. although i do remember brian, my cousin, shooting a pheasant at the pond, but i think that only happened because he bought 30 pheasants and planted a few at the usually-unsuccessful spot. my dad and i were hunting the perimeter and we heard bleating coming from the west bank of the pond. we found a lamb sick and lying on its side, unable to move. my dad the farmer/doctor somehow determined the lamb was beyond recovery and decided we needed to put it out of its misery. so he shot it with his 12 gauge in the head. as he turned i saw him wipe a tear out of his eye. i wasn't so much traumatized by seeing my dad cry (he cried at the end of cars, akeelah and the bee, and the fast and the furious (probably)), but by the fact that every time i came in contact with sheep, they died. and most of the time i am with my dad. so when i hear the call, 'feed my sheep' i grow extremely worried for the sheep.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
the crux
geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is delar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is delar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is delar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
oh deer
the other week i went to utah and went up a mountain to camp out, be manly, and kill things. i accomplished the first.
but my cousin cutler mastered all three objectives. i knew it was going to happen when we started out on friday afternoon. we were discussing the finer points of life when he told me about his 'hot manti girls.' when i asked him to back up such an oxymoronic statement, he produced this picture from his wallet:
he asked me if i could guess what grade she was in. i said fifth. he said, you wish. then he told me she is in 8th grade (he is in 9th). I asked if it matters what grade she is in. he said, no--she's hot though. and i guess he sort of had a point. so at that time i realized that stopping cutler from killing a deer was impossible: the deer had as much chance as did this hot manti girl. so at the very end of the next day, i was not surprised to see cutler riding an atv with a deer tied to the front. and here he is:
while we were driving up to our hunting spot, grandpa's car exploded. and here is a picture of that.
grandpa is something like 87 years old and he can fix anything with his hands and some chicken wire. so i decided i should take some pictures of that:
it was a pretty good trip to utah. i didn't meet any hot LA people or do any great mountain biking, but i did manage to get home at 4:00 in the morning because my flight back to new york was stupid.
and that is all for now. goodbye.
but my cousin cutler mastered all three objectives. i knew it was going to happen when we started out on friday afternoon. we were discussing the finer points of life when he told me about his 'hot manti girls.' when i asked him to back up such an oxymoronic statement, he produced this picture from his wallet:
he asked me if i could guess what grade she was in. i said fifth. he said, you wish. then he told me she is in 8th grade (he is in 9th). I asked if it matters what grade she is in. he said, no--she's hot though. and i guess he sort of had a point. so at that time i realized that stopping cutler from killing a deer was impossible: the deer had as much chance as did this hot manti girl. so at the very end of the next day, i was not surprised to see cutler riding an atv with a deer tied to the front. and here he is:
while we were driving up to our hunting spot, grandpa's car exploded. and here is a picture of that.
grandpa is something like 87 years old and he can fix anything with his hands and some chicken wire. so i decided i should take some pictures of that:
it was a pretty good trip to utah. i didn't meet any hot LA people or do any great mountain biking, but i did manage to get home at 4:00 in the morning because my flight back to new york was stupid.
and that is all for now. goodbye.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
alphius: where are you?
i think this might be the best thing i have ever seen. you may have heard it was peter's birthday the other day. well, he came home last week with a present for me. you'd think i would be getting him presents, but that lovely brought me home a book. i found this picture in it and i haven't been this happy since i found out the niels bohr model was not the latest atomic theory. if this doesn't make you happy, then maybe you should check out this out. enjoy this picture of the best thing in the entire world
Sunday, October 15, 2006
marriage?
today we went to church and our stake president was there and he told us we had to get married. and marc was visiting and he didn't even feel guilty at all because he was there with his fiance and they are getting married in two weeks and six days. then, after church, they came over to our house because it is peter's birthday today (happy birthday peter) and marc started beat boxing (he's real good, you know) and i threw down some fat rhymes--i was old schoolin' it and not even caring--not even a little bit. after, we went up to scarsdale to eat with peter's aunt, uncle and his parents (all of whom are great and i think we should get together with all of them more often) and on the way home marc started beat boxin' again and i couldn't help but throwin' it down yet again. it was a good day and it made for a good birthday--at least it was a good birthday celebration for me, even though it wasn't my birthday (it was peter's--he hit the big 25). so here is the happy couple. and i'm going to sleep.
Friday, October 06, 2006
a somewhat sort of news flash
from now on, i would like everyone to refer to me as geronimo p. ashbar. this name cancels out any previous nomenclature that you or any other person may have used to refer to me.
p.s. my friend andrew just returned from spreading freedom in iraq; i think i'm glad he's home.
p.s. my friend andrew just returned from spreading freedom in iraq; i think i'm glad he's home.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
pandemonium
someone asked me the other day what i like. i couldn't answer very well. here is an attempt. the following 44 items are things (in no particular order) i've liked in the past couple of weeks.
1.apple products
2.eugene richards
4.honda accord wagons
6.the flaming lips
7. wes anderson
8.sean watkins
9.charlie hunter
10.medeski martin and wood
11.bob dylan
12.nickel creek
13.soulive
14.ayn rand
15.this
16.swiffer
17.david grisman
18.jerry garcia
19.george clinton
20.henry roth
21.robert pirsig
22.richard bushman
23.the love song of j. alfred prufrock
24.tarantula
25.john scolfield
26.jack white
27.zhang yimou
28.peru
29.axe (phoenix) deodorant
30.chris thile
31.the potato eaters
32.salvador dali
33.canon 20d
34.sigma 10-20mm
35.marc and kaedi fehlberg
36.upright citizen’s brigade theater
37.paul and amy
38.rolling stone
39.new yorker
40.our friend puccini
41.the second movement of the 7th Beethoven symphony
42.bach cello suites
43.inwood 3rd ward
44.the people’s republic of china
1.
2.
4.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.medeski martin and wood
11.
12.
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
20.
21.
22.
23.
24.
25.
26.
27.
28.
29.
30.
31.
32.
33.
34.
35.
36.
37.
38.
39.
40.
41.
42.
43.
44.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
the new radical
drawing pictures during church is the new radical.
so. people have been bothering me about posting peru pictures. guess what? i am not your slave. i will not be used. you will not be a parasite off my life.
so i will post some pictures that i drew during church today. it helped me get through. i am not an artist, nor do i claim to be. and no, i am not prince hamlet, nor was i meant to be. but i think i did do peter justice. please see below.
above iss a picture of some girl looking out the window. she is scared because she doesn't want to face the alien robot that is attacking the city.
This is Peter as he prepares to give a talk in church. he is thinking a lot about atp. in fact, he can't get the krebs cycle out of his mind.
becca and i were talking and we decided to illustrate a short history of mullet. my favorite one is the one about the apostles.
so i hope everyone is having a good time. i am thinking about posting peru pictures, but i will do it on my own timeline.
thank you.
so. people have been bothering me about posting peru pictures. guess what? i am not your slave. i will not be used. you will not be a parasite off my life.
so i will post some pictures that i drew during church today. it helped me get through. i am not an artist, nor do i claim to be. and no, i am not prince hamlet, nor was i meant to be. but i think i did do peter justice. please see below.
above iss a picture of some girl looking out the window. she is scared because she doesn't want to face the alien robot that is attacking the city.
This is Peter as he prepares to give a talk in church. he is thinking a lot about atp. in fact, he can't get the krebs cycle out of his mind.
becca and i were talking and we decided to illustrate a short history of mullet. my favorite one is the one about the apostles.
so i hope everyone is having a good time. i am thinking about posting peru pictures, but i will do it on my own timeline.
thank you.
Monday, September 04, 2006
parsnips a-plenty
cute kids, right? nobody would want to hurt these little ones, right? why would anyone try to ruin their lives or, for example, try to run their house down with some sort of motorized vehicle device? i don't know. its beyond me. and yet, someone did.
that someone rented a scooter in a place called pucallpa, peru. then, he drove down to the shanty towns situated next to the ucayali river (a major feed to the amazon). then, he took hundreds of pictures of these kids and their friends. he made a fool of himself by attracting the whole neighborhood. he made them stop their volleyball game so he could photograph them. he forced himself into their volleyball game and dominated on offense and defense.
then, as he was leaving, he was kickstarting his scooter. of course, he assumed the scooter was in neutral. when he realized it wasn't, it was too late. the scooter (with him on top) flew out of control and he couldn't get to the only-functioning foot brake. he crashed over the small cement embankment you see in the picture (between the three kids and the man in the doorway). then, he went flying in the air. he tried turning the scooter, but the friction caused by the handlebars moving against only air did nothing. he crashed into the side of the small wooden house you see. the seat of the scooter popped open and hit him as he fell onto the ground. his companion was laughing hysterically. he also was laughing and spurting out something like 'lo siento' to the man who owned the house. that man helped him pick up the scooter and watched as parents protectively moved their children out of the way as he (the said gringo) started his scooter and drove off.
this guy who crashed his scooter got hurt. look at the picture of his arm. maybe it will scar. that would be super neat.
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