2009 — 25 October: Sunday
I confess I've been bopping away contentedly to the music of Kraftwerk (preceded by a fascinating documentary on what was, rather insultingly, termed "Krautrock"). But it's now time (01:11 or so) for tonight's picture of Christa, followed by a spot of shuteye:
I took this one in Cornwall in September 1975. Happy days! G'night.
Sunny, cool...
... and slightly damp. Perfect conditions for a road walk down in the New Forest. But not before breakfast, a cuppa (or two) and a packed lunch. It's 08:20 and I must remember to reset the central heating controller clock. (Done.)
As I munch, I've just been listening to Terry Gross talking to Tim Page. Fascinating. We know so little about how the brain (mind) works and yet get chunks of evidence from time to time that it's a lot more capable than we can fathom. Not certain that I agree with the idea that "shy" is simply the Victorian term for Asperger's, however. (I suspect the long time it took my parents to realise I needed glasses was one of the main factors that predisposed me towards books and away from "healthier outdoor pursuits" — such as catching balls I couldn't even see!)
Right. Lunch is packed. Stairs are partially Dysoned (the portable dust sucker only lasts for about five steps before its little collection tank is full to popping, which says a lot more about my slovenly lifestyle than it does about Dyson engineering). Decision made as to sun hat — the fancy new leather one is locked in the car, which is locked in the garage. No brainer.
A gentle 5.1 miles...
... along one of our "wet weather" road routes in the Forest, lunch and coffee at Bob's, and back home for 14:35 or so. Mostly sunny, quite warm, but somebody has without any doubt flipped on the switch marked "Autumn" and started painting all the leaves accordingly. When riots can begin simply on the rumour that "foreign troops have burned a copy of the Koran" I find myself wondering (again) on the useful purpose of religion. I doubt that any of these revered holy scriptures tell people to riot in such a case, whereas priests and related rabble-rousers of all stripes seem only too ready to leap into action. Strange world, made ever stranger by homines sapientes.
I shall have to stop listening to the "news".
The just-concluded hot bath, and its preceding cuppa, leave me unmoved by the fact that it's now (15:55) pouring with rain. There's "Piano Jazz" on NPR — what more does a chap need? Well, reading the "New York Times" review of Robert Crumb's illustrated take on the book of Genesis made me laugh...
At points, Crumb withholds exactly the kind of graphic details he built a career on revealing: In an image of circumcision, he shows us two splatters of blood, rather than the actual penis being cut. Onan practices coitus interruptus turned away from us. This book, I believe, is the first thing by Crumb ever published without a single image of flying sperm or a sharp blade approaching male genitalia.
There's really nothing quite so wholesome as that old-time religion, is there? At least one such religion reveres these animals,1 too:
Mike took the picture today just a few yards from where I captured Miss Piggy nearly two years ago. For all I know, she fell over immediately after he clicked the shutter!