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Sunday, June 29, 2014
The Onset of Glory
Summer's onset is glorious. Bands play in the park, children frolic and sail Frisbees, whilst beautiful barefoot girls in sundresses twirl to the music. Let libations flow like a river, till cheeks are as rose colored as my glasses. Let silver reline the darkest of clouds, and may the white light at the end of the tunnel be neither train nor Grim Reaper, but simply the dawn of a new day.
Saturday, June 21, 2014
I Spell Progress With A Great Big Pee
Just a few photos of "The Cars of Bisbee," starting with the Hillary Mobile. The above photo was taken during her run to be the Democratic nominee for President. Either by unfortunate timing or bad luck or both, she ended up butting heads with a most articulate black candidate by the name of Obama, whose "timing" couldn't have been better. Americans wanted a black president; it was time, it was a statement, it was, in some small twisted way, maybe subconscious relief of debt and past deeds, it took a vague form of recompense. But don't repaint the Hillary Mobile yet, cause it looks like Mrs Clinton wants to reclaim and remodel the White House again. She's baaaccck :) 2016 might be one of those elections where you just hold your nose and punch the chads.
Saturday, June 14, 2014
Biding Our Time and Saving Gas in Lovely Ouray
Highway 550, "The Million Dollar Highway," a series of curves and 180º switchbacks between Lovely Ouray and Silverton, is back open after months of "Rock Fall" mitigation. Not a route for the carsick or faint of heart.
Sunday, June 8, 2014
Just Defending My "Turf" Against Misguided Blog Bullies
Gallery Boy here, reporting in from work on Main Street, Ouray. It's Sunday—which happens to be my Friday—and it's raining, and it's slow. I got a kick out of the little Tyke in the lead photo—zooming through the grass, Frisbee in hand, looking for "game," apparently. Those darn dandelions kept tripping him up, though. "Somebody needs to mow this grass."
Monday, June 2, 2014
Bobbie's Good News
It was a pleasure to rip May, 2014 from the calendar—a horrendous thirty one day nightmare we would just as soon forget—and put a match to it. A gesture rooted more in symbolism than efficacy, more platitude than proper, more show than substance. It felt good, and gave us the feeling of regaining some semblance of control over the wretched chaos that's been swirling around lately.
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