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I'm rather tired of eulogies, will the people I admire kindly stop dying.</p> +<p><amp-img alt="Robert Anton Wilson" height="181" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/raw.jpg" width="260"></amp-img>Wilson had a profound impact on me when I was younger and I'm not exaggerating when I say his book Prometheus Rising completely changed the way I look at the world — in good way — but I haven't read anything by him in some time.</p> +<p>When I read on <a href="http://www.boingboing.net/2007/01/11/robert_anton_wilson_.html" title="Robert Anton Wilson (RIP)">BoingBoing</a> this afternoon that he had died, I started digging around the internet, <a href="http://www.10zenmonkeys.com/2007/01/12/a-selection-of-obscure-robert-anton-wilson-essays/" title="A Selection of Obscure Robert Anton Wilson Essays">reading</a> and <a href="http://www.rinf.com/articles/robert-anton-wilson.html" title="RAW: Robert Anton Wilson Video & Audio Multimedia">listening</a> to some of Wilson's various audio and video archives. I was struck by the fact that the world just lost one of its great humanizers. </p> +<p>Wilson is often pigeon-holed by the same cultural reputations of his friends, namely Timothy Leary and William Burroughs, but Wilson always seemed to me less concerned with edification and more interested in humanization, which is something the world will miss.</p> +<p>And I started thinking about how a man who wrote some of the most paranoid, conspiracy-oriented novels I've ever read could remain, at the end of day, and even the end of his life, eternally an optimist.</p> +<p>Wilson's <a href="http://robertantonwilson.blogspot.com/2007/01/do-not-go-gently-into-that-good-night.html" title="Do not go gently into that good night">final entry on his blog</a>, written five days before his death, reads:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>Various medical authorities swarm in and out of here predicting I have between two days and two months to live. I think they are guessing. I remain cheerful and unimpressed. I look forward without dogmatic optimism but without dread. I love you all and I deeply implore you to keep the lasagna flying.</p> +<p>Please pardon my levity, I don't see how to take death seriously. It seems absurd. </p> +</blockquote> +<p>Wilson didn't take much of anything very seriously and that's one of the things I acquired from reading him. I've discovered over the years that many people in my life are somewhat put off by my refusal to take things seriously and I have at times perhaps taken that too far, but by and large I remain convinced that that levity and a lack of certitude are important.</p> +<p>How do you stay optimistic in a world which is increasing bent on fostering global insanity? I think the first step is to realize that the last sentence is an abstraction and doesn't really mean anything. Which isn't to say we should all stick out heads in the ground and ignore things that upset us, but simply that we recognize that the things that upset us need not define us.</p> +<p><amp-img alt="Illuminatus Cover" height="300" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/illuminatus-cover.jpg" width="195"></amp-img>When you read something like Illuminatus, with characters like, Fission Chips, the world's first quintuple compromised secret agent, you can't help but come away laughing. The focus in Wilson's work was never to make you paranoid. “My business,” Wilson once told the LA Weekly, “is not to expose but to collect comparative exposes so that the readers can see that conspiracy is normal behavior and that there's no one big conspiracy that runs everything.”</p> +<p>One thing Wilson said over and over in the audio I listened to earlier stood out — perhaps we should try using “seems” more often and “is” a whole lot less. Now maybe that only sounds like a good idea to someone who's obsessed with linguistics in the first place, but maybe it isn't that limited. </p> +<p>At the end of the day there may well be no “is.” I'd be the last person to embrace any sort of relativistic notion of ethics or morality, but I also try to keep in mind that I am a colossal idiot and I have long, tragically long, history of being wrong. Wrong about where the car keys are and wrong about what the world needs, what I need and what those around me need. In short I've come to distrust the certitude of statements involving is.</p> +<p>Most of the conflicts in this world involve conflicts of is-es — my is is better/bigger/more correct/morally superior/more logical/ad nauseam than your is. </p> +<p>The saddest irony being of course that in the end all we create are additional problems by arguing about problems (never mind that abstract problems are generally self-invented anyway, probably have no practical solution, and even if they did most of us are powerless to implement a real solution outside ourselves and our own narrow lives).</p> +<p>Perhaps if we spent more time talking about how the world <em>seems</em>, rather than how the world <em>is</em> we'd construct a more kind-hearted and enjoyable world.</p> +<p>Happy trails Mr. Wilson, may you finally escape the <a href="http://www.totse.com/en/conspiracy/institutional_analysis/fnord.html" title="I Can See the fnords!">fnords</a>, we'll keep the lasagna airborne, or as a line from the eponymous song says — let's fuck it up boys (and girls)/make some noise.</p> +<p>[Update: A bunch of people have emailed me asking for more links to RAW's writings and such. Rather than compile everything again, I'll offer this <a href="http://reason.com/news/show/117878.html" title="The legacy of Robert Anton Wilson">Reason Magazine article</a>, which is chock full of links.]</p> +<p class="note">This Essay is for my friend Hilary who introduced me to the writings of Robert Anton Wilson</p> + </div> + </article> +</main> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/01/sun-came-no-conclusions.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/01/sun-came-no-conclusions.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3dbea22 --- /dev/null +++ b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/01/sun-came-no-conclusions.html @@ -0,0 +1,351 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html +class="detail single" dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> + +<head> + <title>The Sun Came Up With No Conclusions - by Scott Gilbertson</title> + <meta charset="utf-8"> + <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <meta name="description" + content="Robert Anton Wilson, philosopher, visionary, Discordian, author of the Illuminatus! 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I’m rather tired of eulogies, will the people I admire kindly stop dying.</p> +<p><img alt="Robert Anton Wilson" class="postpic" height="181" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/raw.jpg" width="260"/>Wilson had a profound impact on me when I was younger and I’m not exaggerating when I say his book Prometheus Rising completely changed the way I look at the world — in good way — but I haven’t read anything by him in some time.</p> +<p>When I read on <a href="http://www.boingboing.net/2007/01/11/robert_anton_wilson_.html" title="Robert Anton Wilson (RIP)">BoingBoing</a> this afternoon that he had died, I started digging around the internet, <a href="http://www.10zenmonkeys.com/2007/01/12/a-selection-of-obscure-robert-anton-wilson-essays/" title="A Selection of Obscure Robert Anton Wilson Essays">reading</a> and <a href="http://www.rinf.com/articles/robert-anton-wilson.html" title="RAW: Robert Anton Wilson Video & Audio Multimedia">listening</a> to some of Wilson’s various audio and video archives. I was struck by the fact that the world just lost one of its great humanizers. </p> +<p>Wilson is often pigeon-holed by the same cultural reputations of his friends, namely Timothy Leary and William Burroughs, but Wilson always seemed to me less concerned with edification and more interested in humanization, which is something the world will miss.</p> +<p>And I started thinking about how a man who wrote some of the most paranoid, conspiracy-oriented novels I’ve ever read could remain, at the end of day, and even the end of his life, eternally an optimist.</p> +<p>Wilson’s <a href="http://robertantonwilson.blogspot.com/2007/01/do-not-go-gently-into-that-good-night.html" title="Do not go gently into that good night">final entry on his blog</a>, written five days before his death, reads:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>Various medical authorities swarm in and out of here predicting I have between two days and two months to live. I think they are guessing. I remain cheerful and unimpressed. I look forward without dogmatic optimism but without dread. I love you all and I deeply implore you to keep the lasagna flying.</p> +<p>Please pardon my levity, I don’t see how to take death seriously. It seems absurd. </p> +</blockquote> +<p>Wilson didn’t take much of anything very seriously and that’s one of the things I acquired from reading him. I’ve discovered over the years that many people in my life are somewhat put off by my refusal to take things seriously and I have at times perhaps taken that too far, but by and large I remain convinced that that levity and a lack of certitude are important.</p> +<p>How do you stay optimistic in a world which is increasing bent on fostering global insanity? I think the first step is to realize that the last sentence is an abstraction and doesn’t really mean anything. Which isn’t to say we should all stick out heads in the ground and ignore things that upset us, but simply that we recognize that the things that upset us need not define us.</p> +<p><img alt="Illuminatus Cover" class="postpicright" height="300" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/illuminatus-cover.jpg" width="195"/>When you read something like Illuminatus, with characters like, Fission Chips, the world’s first quintuple compromised secret agent, you can’t help but come away laughing. The focus in Wilson’s work was never to make you paranoid. “My business,” Wilson once told the LA Weekly, “is not to expose but to collect comparative exposes so that the readers can see that conspiracy is normal behavior and that there’s no one big conspiracy that runs everything.”</p> +<p>One thing Wilson said over and over in the audio I listened to earlier stood out — perhaps we should try using “seems” more often and “is” a whole lot less. Now maybe that only sounds like a good idea to someone who’s obsessed with linguistics in the first place, but maybe it isn’t that limited. </p> +<p>At the end of the day there may well be no “is.” I’d be the last person to embrace any sort of relativistic notion of ethics or morality, but I also try to keep in mind that I am a colossal idiot and I have long, tragically long, history of being wrong. Wrong about where the car keys are and wrong about what the world needs, what I need and what those around me need. In short I’ve come to distrust the certitude of statements involving is.</p> +<p>Most of the conflicts in this world involve conflicts of is-es — my is is better/bigger/more correct/morally superior/more logical/ad nauseam than your is. </p> +<p>The saddest irony being of course that in the end all we create are additional problems by arguing about problems (never mind that abstract problems are generally self-invented anyway, probably have no practical solution, and even if they did most of us are powerless to implement a real solution outside ourselves and our own narrow lives).</p> +<p>Perhaps if we spent more time talking about how the world <em>seems</em>, rather than how the world <em>is</em> we’d construct a more kind-hearted and enjoyable world.</p> +<p>Happy trails Mr. Wilson, may you finally escape the <a href="http://www.totse.com/en/conspiracy/institutional_analysis/fnord.html" title="I Can See the fnords!">fnords</a>, we’ll keep the lasagna airborne, or as a line from the eponymous song says — let’s fuck it up boys (and girls)/make some noise.</p> +<p>[Update: A bunch of people have emailed me asking for more links to RAW’s writings and such. Rather than compile everything again, I’ll offer this <a href="http://reason.com/news/show/117878.html" title="The legacy of Robert Anton Wilson">Reason Magazine article</a>, which is chock full of links.]</p> +<p class="note">This Essay is for my friend Hilary who introduced me to the writings of Robert Anton Wilson + </div> + + </article> + + + <div class="nav-wrapper"> + <nav id="page-navigation" class="page-border-top"> + <ul> + <li id="prev"><span class="bl">Previous:</span> + <a href="/jrnl/2006/12/give-it-or-turnit-loose" rel="prev" title=" Give It Up Or Turnit A Loose">Give It Up Or Turnit A Loose</a> + </li> + <li id="next"><span class="bl">Next:</span> + <a href="/jrnl/2007/02/everything-all-time" rel="next" title=" Everything All The Time">Everything All The Time</a> + </li> + </ul> + </nav> + </div> + + + + + + +<div class="comment--form--wrapper "> + +<div class="comment--form--header"> + <p class="hed">Thoughts?</p> + <p class="subhed">Please leave a reply:</p> +</div> +<form action="/comments/post/" method="post" class="comment--form"> + +<input type="hidden" name="rder" value="" /> + + + <input type="hidden" name="content_type" value="jrnl.entry" id="id_content_type"> + + + + <input type="hidden" name="object_pk" value="71" id="id_object_pk"> + + + + <input type="hidden" name="timestamp" value="1596833473" id="id_timestamp"> + + + + <input type="hidden" name="security_hash" value="be00034e14d3811fa62666330da8688d6597c6d4" id="id_security_hash"> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_name">Name:</label> + <input type="text" name="name" maxlength="50" required id="id_name"> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_email">Email address:</label> + <input type="email" name="email" required id="id_email"> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_url">URL:</label> + <input type="url" name="url" id="id_url"> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_comment">Comment:</label> + <div class="textarea-rounded"><textarea name="comment" cols="40" rows="10" maxlength="3000" required id="id_comment"> +</textarea></div> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset style="display:none;"> + <label for="id_honeypot">If you enter anything in this field your comment will be treated as spam:</label> + <input type="text" name="honeypot" id="id_honeypot"> + </fieldset> + + + <div class="submit"> + <input type="submit" name="post" class="submit-post btn" value="Post" /> + <input type="submit" name="preview" class="submit-preview btn" value="Preview" /> + </div> +</form> +<p style="font-size: 95%;"><strong>All comments are moderated</strong>, so you won’t see it right away. 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+
+<break>
+
+<span class="drop">R</span>obert Anton Wilson</span>, philosopher, visionary, Discordian, author of the Illuminatus! epic and hacker of the mind, passed away earlier today. I'm rather tired of eulogies, will the people I admire kindly stop dying.
+
+<img src="[[base_url]]/2007/raw.jpg" alt="Robert Anton Wilson" width="260" height="181" class="postpic" />Wilson had a profound impact on me when I was younger and I'm not exaggerating when I say his book Prometheus Rising completely changed the way I look at the world — in good way — but I haven't read anything by him in some time.
+
+When I read on <a href="http://www.boingboing.net/2007/01/11/robert_anton_wilson_.html" title="Robert Anton Wilson (RIP)">BoingBoing</a> this afternoon that he had died, I started digging around the internet, <a href="http://www.10zenmonkeys.com/2007/01/12/a-selection-of-obscure-robert-anton-wilson-essays/" title="A Selection of Obscure Robert Anton Wilson Essays">reading</a> and <a href="http://www.rinf.com/articles/robert-anton-wilson.html" title="RAW: Robert Anton Wilson Video & Audio Multimedia">listening</a> to some of Wilson's various audio and video archives. I was struck by the fact that the world just lost one of its great humanizers.
+
+Wilson is often pigeon-holed by the same cultural reputations of his friends, namely Timothy Leary and William Burroughs, but Wilson always seemed to me less concerned with edification and more interested in humanization, which is something the world will miss.
+
+And I started thinking about how a man who wrote some of the most paranoid, conspiracy-oriented novels I've ever read could remain, at the end of day, and even the end of his life, eternally an optimist.
+
+Wilson's <a href="http://robertantonwilson.blogspot.com/2007/01/do-not-go-gently-into-that-good-night.html" title="Do not go gently into that good night">final entry on his blog</a>, written five days before his death, reads:
+
+> Various medical authorities swarm in and out of here predicting I have between two days and two months to live. I think they are guessing. I remain cheerful and unimpressed. I look forward without dogmatic optimism but without dread. I love you all and I deeply implore you to keep the lasagna flying.
+
+> Please pardon my levity, I don't see how to take death seriously. It seems absurd.
+
+Wilson didn't take much of anything very seriously and that's one of the things I acquired from reading him. I've discovered over the years that many people in my life are somewhat put off by my refusal to take things seriously and I have at times perhaps taken that too far, but by and large I remain convinced that that levity and a lack of certitude are important.
+
+How do you stay optimistic in a world which is increasing bent on fostering global insanity? I think the first step is to realize that the last sentence is an abstraction and doesn't really mean anything. Which isn't to say we should all stick out heads in the ground and ignore things that upset us, but simply that we recognize that the things that upset us need not define us.
+
+<img src="[[base_url]]/2007/illuminatus-cover.jpg" alt="Illuminatus Cover" width="195" height="300" class="postpicright" />When you read something like Illuminatus, with characters like, Fission Chips, the world's first quintuple compromised secret agent, you can't help but come away laughing. The focus in Wilson's work was never to make you paranoid. “My business,” Wilson once told the LA Weekly, “is not to expose but to collect comparative exposes so that the readers can see that conspiracy is normal behavior and that there's no one big conspiracy that runs everything.”
+
+One thing Wilson said over and over in the audio I listened to earlier stood out — perhaps we should try using “seems” more often and “is” a whole lot less. Now maybe that only sounds like a good idea to someone who's obsessed with linguistics in the first place, but maybe it isn't that limited.
+
+At the end of the day there may well be no “is.” I'd be the last person to embrace any sort of relativistic notion of ethics or morality, but I also try to keep in mind that I am a colossal idiot and I have long, tragically long, history of being wrong. Wrong about where the car keys are and wrong about what the world needs, what I need and what those around me need. In short I've come to distrust the certitude of statements involving is.
+
+Most of the conflicts in this world involve conflicts of is-es — my is is better/bigger/more correct/morally superior/more logical/ad nauseam than your is.
+
+The saddest irony being of course that in the end all we create are additional problems by arguing about problems (never mind that abstract problems are generally self-invented anyway, probably have no practical solution, and even if they did most of us are powerless to implement a real solution outside ourselves and our own narrow lives).
+
+Perhaps if we spent more time talking about how the world <em>seems</em>, rather than how the world <em>is</em> we'd construct a more kind-hearted and enjoyable world.
+
+Happy trails Mr. Wilson, may you finally escape the <a href="http://www.totse.com/en/conspiracy/institutional_analysis/fnord.html" title="I Can See the fnords!">fnords</a>, we'll keep the lasagna airborne, or as a line from the eponymous song says — let's fuck it up boys (and girls)/make some noise.
+
+[Update: A bunch of people have emailed me asking for more links to RAW's writings and such. Rather than compile everything again, I'll offer this <a href="http://reason.com/news/show/117878.html" title="The legacy of Robert Anton Wilson">Reason Magazine article</a>, which is chock full of links.]
+
+<p class="note">This Essay is for my friend Hilary who introduced me to the writings of Robert Anton Wilson diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/02/everything-all-time.amp b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/02/everything-all-time.amp new file mode 100644 index 0000000..329e134 --- /dev/null +++ b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/02/everything-all-time.amp @@ -0,0 +1,191 @@ + + +<!doctype html> +<html amp lang="en"> +<head> +<meta charset="utf-8"> +<title>Everything All The Time</title> +<link rel="canonical" href="https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2007/02/everything-all-time"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width,initial-scale=1,minimum-scale=1"> + <meta name="twitter:card" content="summary_large_image"/> + <meta name="twitter:url" content="/jrnl/2007/02/everything-all-time"> + <meta name="twitter:description" content="Memory is a card house that topples before the pinnacle is reached... the final card lies forever out of reach, beyond tomorrow. 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At some point we got to talking of age and memory and time. We were speaking of time passing, of the curious moment we both find ourselves in now — trying to adjust to what I at least can safely call the middle of my life — certainly no longer the beginning. And then my friend said, “remember me as I was when you met me.” </p> +<p><amp-img alt="Window" height="260" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/end.jpg" width="173"></amp-img> I laughed. Now the time my friend refers to, when we met, I would have been twenty-five or twenty-six. Personally I would just as soon forget nearly anything and everything I did when I was twenty-five as I’m sure it was largely ridiculous and immature. For that matter I should probably forget what I did yesterday as I’m fairly certain it wasn’t a whole lot better. </p> +<p>I don’t know if I’m just overly paranoid but when I call up memories in the dark hours of the Beaujolais-soaked pre-dawn, I get mainly a collection of mildly amusing, occasionally painful series of embarrassments, misunderstandings and general wrong-place wrong-time sort of moments. </p> +<p><amp-img alt="Five and Ten" height="137" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/old.jpg" width="268"></amp-img>Which isn’t to imply that my life is a British sitcom, just that I’m not in a hurry to re-live any of it. And I don’t think my friend is either. No my friend was not expressing a desire to rewind as it were, but rather acknowledging that since we rarely see each other these days we must necessarily exist mainly as memories.</p> +<p>There’s an inevitable sadness to that realization.</p> +<p>A few days later I was testing a piece of photo software for my day job at Wired and I happened to run across an image from roughly that time of my life. I don’t know for sure if it’s the oldest picture I have, but I’ve always thought of it as the first picture I took of my friend.</p> +<p>There was a strange disconnect though, as I stared at my friend’s image and my own frozen in pixels. For all we like to think that photograph’s record, they don’t. Kodak was wrong, photographs don’t capture memories they just provide thin little links to them; time passes and memory continues to add impressions and in the end what you have is just one piece of a collage of memories which, taken out of context, as a photograph must be, becomes a distortion, something you no longer recognize as your friend. </p> +<p>The image in question has a strange yellow glow, distorted toward orange by the blunt sensor of the old Canon, I know the lamb’s wool sweater my friend is wearing is pale minty green but in the picture it looks almost ochre, the walls seem to have been lifted from some smoke stained Parisian bar, my friend and I are slightly out of focus, my jittery arm extends away from my side, but our smiles are not forced. </p> +<p>Slowly, after staring at the picture for a while, my attention drifted away and other un-photographed moments arose, my own green sweater, darker than my friend’s, wet from dripping awnings as I walked in the rain one night in Vienna, the crystal chandelier in the cafe, sausage and purple cabbage on white china plates. And then to another memory driving across central Utah, the roads winding on narrow fluted mesa tops, the rough hewn wood planks of a tiny general store where I once bought steak and potatoes, the forest campground where the smell of steak sizzled over flames filled my lungs and in the fading light of a sun disappearing over the Wasatch mountains I took another photograph, which is on this very page, the eyeball in the tree that continues to haunt me. </p> +<p>At perhaps the simplest level remembering is merely reconstructing the past in the present, but there is no continuous motion of memory through time as there is in the present, we do not recall events in the order they happened, but rather by the things that link them. Memories stack up at crazy angles like a card house that topples before the pinnacle is reached, the final card laid, the final card lies forever out of reach, beyond tomorrow. </p> +<p><amp-img alt="Me" height="161" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/shadow-me.jpg" width="240"></amp-img>In many ways time has nothing to do with memory, save to act as a marker. Time is the space between memories, it lives in the shadows, runs down between and fills the cracks.</p> +<p>When we do try to introduce time into our memories we often have to stop and think — now when did that happen? The memory, the reconstruction of the past in the present happens unaided but it often bounces here and there joining with other memories linked by smell, taste, sound and more, but almost never by time. Placing a memory at a specific moment in time rarely comes as easily, we rely on context, the shirt you’re wearing, the hat your friend has on or maybe the length of your hair.</p> +<p>Perhaps we let time slip from memory because it isn’t necessary, perhaps time only matters in the present. But even then we do our best to ignore it. Our escape from time, the trick we use to ignore its passage on the average day is that it moves just slow enough that we don’t notice it except in larger chunks. </p> +<p>I recently came across someone who subverted that though. Imagine your life displayed in a time lapse film. The very thought of it is intimidating, almost unimaginable. Well have a look at <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6B26asyGKDo&mode=related&search=" title="Noah takes a photo of himself every day for 6 years">Noah Kalina’s YouTube montage</a> (embedded below). For six years Noah took a picture of himself every day. Personally I find Noah’s video collage to be one of the most beautiful and truly frightening things I’ve ever seen, which probably explains why it’s one of the most watched movies on YouTube.</p> +<p>Each photograph on its own is mundane, hardly worth comment, but in rapid succession they stitch together and form a thread of time moving through life, and even though we watch Noah pass through six years in three minutes, as you watch his face becomes after a while only a thin veil between our own reflection in the screen and time screaming past.</p> +<style>.embed-container { position: relative; padding-bottom: 56.25%; height: 0; overflow: hidden; max-width: 100%; height: auto; } .embed-container iframe, .embed-container object, .embed-container embed { position: absolute; top: 0; left: 0; width: 100%; height: 100%; }</style> +<div class="embed-container"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/6B26asyGKDo"></iframe></div> + </div> + </article> +</main> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/02/everything-all-time.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/02/everything-all-time.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..373bc81 --- /dev/null +++ b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/02/everything-all-time.html @@ -0,0 +1,347 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html +class="detail single" dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> + +<head> + <title>Everything All The Time - by Scott Gilbertson</title> + <meta charset="utf-8"> + <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <meta name="description" + content="Memory is a card house that topples before the pinnacle is reached... the final card lies forever out of reach, beyond tomorrow. 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At some point we got to talking of age and memory and time. We were speaking of time passing, of the curious moment we both find ourselves in now — trying to adjust to what I at least can safely call the middle of my life — certainly no longer the beginning. And then my friend said, “remember me as I was when you met me.” </p> +<p><img alt="Window" class="postpic" height="260" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/end.jpg" width="173"/> I laughed. Now the time my friend refers to, when we met, I would have been twenty-five or twenty-six. Personally I would just as soon forget nearly anything and everything I did when I was twenty-five as I’m sure it was largely ridiculous and immature. For that matter I should probably forget what I did yesterday as I’m fairly certain it wasn’t a whole lot better. </p> +<p>I don’t know if I’m just overly paranoid but when I call up memories in the dark hours of the Beaujolais-soaked pre-dawn, I get mainly a collection of mildly amusing, occasionally painful series of embarrassments, misunderstandings and general wrong-place wrong-time sort of moments. </p> +<p><img alt="Five and Ten" class="postpicright" height="137" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/old.jpg" width="268"/>Which isn’t to imply that my life is a British sitcom, just that I’m not in a hurry to re-live any of it. And I don’t think my friend is either. No my friend was not expressing a desire to rewind as it were, but rather acknowledging that since we rarely see each other these days we must necessarily exist mainly as memories.</p> +<p>There’s an inevitable sadness to that realization.</p> +<p>A few days later I was testing a piece of photo software for my day job at Wired and I happened to run across an image from roughly that time of my life. I don’t know for sure if it’s the oldest picture I have, but I’ve always thought of it as the first picture I took of my friend.</p> +<p>There was a strange disconnect though, as I stared at my friend’s image and my own frozen in pixels. For all we like to think that photograph’s record, they don’t. Kodak was wrong, photographs don’t capture memories they just provide thin little links to them; time passes and memory continues to add impressions and in the end what you have is just one piece of a collage of memories which, taken out of context, as a photograph must be, becomes a distortion, something you no longer recognize as your friend. </p> +<p>The image in question has a strange yellow glow, distorted toward orange by the blunt sensor of the old Canon, I know the lamb’s wool sweater my friend is wearing is pale minty green but in the picture it looks almost ochre, the walls seem to have been lifted from some smoke stained Parisian bar, my friend and I are slightly out of focus, my jittery arm extends away from my side, but our smiles are not forced. </p> +<p>Slowly, after staring at the picture for a while, my attention drifted away and other un-photographed moments arose, my own green sweater, darker than my friend’s, wet from dripping awnings as I walked in the rain one night in Vienna, the crystal chandelier in the cafe, sausage and purple cabbage on white china plates. And then to another memory driving across central Utah, the roads winding on narrow fluted mesa tops, the rough hewn wood planks of a tiny general store where I once bought steak and potatoes, the forest campground where the smell of steak sizzled over flames filled my lungs and in the fading light of a sun disappearing over the Wasatch mountains I took another photograph, which is on this very page, the eyeball in the tree that continues to haunt me. </p> +<p>At perhaps the simplest level remembering is merely reconstructing the past in the present, but there is no continuous motion of memory through time as there is in the present, we do not recall events in the order they happened, but rather by the things that link them. Memories stack up at crazy angles like a card house that topples before the pinnacle is reached, the final card laid, the final card lies forever out of reach, beyond tomorrow. </p> +<p><img alt="Me" class="postpic" height="161" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/shadow-me.jpg" width="240"/>In many ways time has nothing to do with memory, save to act as a marker. Time is the space between memories, it lives in the shadows, runs down between and fills the cracks.</p> +<p>When we do try to introduce time into our memories we often have to stop and think — now when did that happen? The memory, the reconstruction of the past in the present happens unaided but it often bounces here and there joining with other memories linked by smell, taste, sound and more, but almost never by time. Placing a memory at a specific moment in time rarely comes as easily, we rely on context, the shirt you’re wearing, the hat your friend has on or maybe the length of your hair.</p> +<p>Perhaps we let time slip from memory because it isn’t necessary, perhaps time only matters in the present. But even then we do our best to ignore it. Our escape from time, the trick we use to ignore its passage on the average day is that it moves just slow enough that we don’t notice it except in larger chunks. </p> +<p>I recently came across someone who subverted that though. Imagine your life displayed in a time lapse film. The very thought of it is intimidating, almost unimaginable. Well have a look at <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6B26asyGKDo&mode=related&search=" title="Noah takes a photo of himself every day for 6 years">Noah Kalina’s YouTube montage</a> (embedded below). For six years Noah took a picture of himself every day. Personally I find Noah’s video collage to be one of the most beautiful and truly frightening things I’ve ever seen, which probably explains why it’s one of the most watched movies on YouTube.</p> +<p>Each photograph on its own is mundane, hardly worth comment, but in rapid succession they stitch together and form a thread of time moving through life, and even though we watch Noah pass through six years in three minutes, as you watch his face becomes after a while only a thin veil between our own reflection in the screen and time screaming past.</p> +<style>.embed-container { position: relative; padding-bottom: 56.25%; height: 0; overflow: hidden; max-width: 100%; height: auto; } .embed-container iframe, .embed-container object, .embed-container embed { position: absolute; top: 0; left: 0; width: 100%; height: 100%; }</style> + +<div class='embed-container'><iframe src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/6B26asyGKDo' frameborder='0' allowfullscreen></iframe></div> + </div> + + </article> + + + <div class="nav-wrapper"> + <nav id="page-navigation" class="page-border-top"> + <ul> + <li id="prev"><span class="bl">Previous:</span> + <a href="/jrnl/2007/01/sun-came-no-conclusions" rel="prev" title=" The Sun Came Up With No Conclusions">The Sun Came Up With No Conclusions</a> + </li> + <li id="next"><span class="bl">Next:</span> + <a href="/jrnl/2007/03/goodbye-mother-and-cove" rel="next" title=" Goodbye to the Mother and the Cove">Goodbye to the Mother and the Cove</a> + </li> + </ul> + </nav> + </div> + + + + + + +<div class="comment--form--wrapper "> + +<div class="comment--form--header"> + <p class="hed">Thoughts?</p> + <p class="subhed">Please leave a reply:</p> +</div> +<form action="/comments/post/" method="post" class="comment--form"> + +<input type="hidden" name="rder" value="" /> + + + <input type="hidden" name="content_type" value="jrnl.entry" id="id_content_type"> + + + + <input type="hidden" name="object_pk" value="74" id="id_object_pk"> + + + + <input type="hidden" name="timestamp" value="1596833473" id="id_timestamp"> + + + + <input type="hidden" name="security_hash" value="8e79326c8cb6828792a34b98f934934898655273" id="id_security_hash"> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_name">Name:</label> + <input type="text" name="name" maxlength="50" required id="id_name"> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_email">Email address:</label> + <input type="email" name="email" required id="id_email"> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_url">URL:</label> + <input type="url" name="url" id="id_url"> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_comment">Comment:</label> + <div class="textarea-rounded"><textarea name="comment" cols="40" rows="10" maxlength="3000" required id="id_comment"> +</textarea></div> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset style="display:none;"> + <label for="id_honeypot">If you enter anything in this field your comment will be treated as spam:</label> + <input type="text" name="honeypot" id="id_honeypot"> + </fieldset> + + + <div class="submit"> + <input type="submit" name="post" class="submit-post btn" value="Post" /> + <input type="submit" name="preview" class="submit-preview btn" value="Preview" /> + </div> +</form> +<p style="font-size: 95%;"><strong>All comments are moderated</strong>, so you won’t see it right away. 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+
+<span class="drop">A</span> while back a friend of mine who I hadn’t spoken to in quite a while rang me up. At some point we got to talking of age and memory and time. We were speaking of time passing, of the curious moment we both find ourselves in now — trying to adjust to what I at least can safely call the middle of my life — certainly no longer the beginning. And then my friend said, “remember me as I was when you met me.”
+
+<img src="[[base_url]]/2007/end.jpg" alt="Window" width="173" height="260" class="postpic" /> I laughed. Now the time my friend refers to, when we met, I would have been twenty-five or twenty-six. Personally I would just as soon forget nearly anything and everything I did when I was twenty-five as I’m sure it was largely ridiculous and immature. For that matter I should probably forget what I did yesterday as I’m fairly certain it wasn’t a whole lot better.
+
+I don’t know if I’m just overly paranoid but when I call up memories in the dark hours of the Beaujolais-soaked pre-dawn, I get mainly a collection of mildly amusing, occasionally painful series of embarrassments, misunderstandings and general wrong-place wrong-time sort of moments.
+
+<img src="[[base_url]]/2007/old.jpg" width="268" height="137"alt="Five and Ten" class="postpicright" />Which isn’t to imply that my life is a British sitcom, just that I’m not in a hurry to re-live any of it. And I don’t think my friend is either. No my friend was not expressing a desire to rewind as it were, but rather acknowledging that since we rarely see each other these days we must necessarily exist mainly as memories.
+
+There’s an inevitable sadness to that realization.
+
+A few days later I was testing a piece of photo software for my day job at Wired and I happened to run across an image from roughly that time of my life. I don’t know for sure if it’s the oldest picture I have, but I’ve always thought of it as the first picture I took of my friend.
+
+There was a strange disconnect though, as I stared at my friend’s image and my own frozen in pixels. For all we like to think that photograph’s record, they don’t. Kodak was wrong, photographs don’t capture memories they just provide thin little links to them; time passes and memory continues to add impressions and in the end what you have is just one piece of a collage of memories which, taken out of context, as a photograph must be, becomes a distortion, something you no longer recognize as your friend.
+
+The image in question has a strange yellow glow, distorted toward orange by the blunt sensor of the old Canon, I know the lamb’s wool sweater my friend is wearing is pale minty green but in the picture it looks almost ochre, the walls seem to have been lifted from some smoke stained Parisian bar, my friend and I are slightly out of focus, my jittery arm extends away from my side, but our smiles are not forced.
+
+Slowly, after staring at the picture for a while, my attention drifted away and other un-photographed moments arose, my own green sweater, darker than my friend’s, wet from dripping awnings as I walked in the rain one night in Vienna, the crystal chandelier in the cafe, sausage and purple cabbage on white china plates. And then to another memory driving across central Utah, the roads winding on narrow fluted mesa tops, the rough hewn wood planks of a tiny general store where I once bought steak and potatoes, the forest campground where the smell of steak sizzled over flames filled my lungs and in the fading light of a sun disappearing over the Wasatch mountains I took another photograph, which is on this very page, the eyeball in the tree that continues to haunt me.
+
+At perhaps the simplest level remembering is merely reconstructing the past in the present, but there is no continuous motion of memory through time as there is in the present, we do not recall events in the order they happened, but rather by the things that link them. Memories stack up at crazy angles like a card house that topples before the pinnacle is reached, the final card laid, the final card lies forever out of reach, beyond tomorrow.
+
+<img src="[[base_url]]/2007/shadow-me.jpg" width="240" height="161"alt="Me" class="postpic" />In many ways time has nothing to do with memory, save to act as a marker. Time is the space between memories, it lives in the shadows, runs down between and fills the cracks.
+
+When we do try to introduce time into our memories we often have to stop and think — now when did that happen? The memory, the reconstruction of the past in the present happens unaided but it often bounces here and there joining with other memories linked by smell, taste, sound and more, but almost never by time. Placing a memory at a specific moment in time rarely comes as easily, we rely on context, the shirt you’re wearing, the hat your friend has on or maybe the length of your hair.
+
+Perhaps we let time slip from memory because it isn’t necessary, perhaps time only matters in the present. But even then we do our best to ignore it. Our escape from time, the trick we use to ignore its passage on the average day is that it moves just slow enough that we don’t notice it except in larger chunks.
+
+I recently came across someone who subverted that though. Imagine your life displayed in a time lapse film. The very thought of it is intimidating, almost unimaginable. Well have a look at <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6B26asyGKDo&mode=related&search=" title="Noah takes a photo of himself every day for 6 years">Noah Kalina’s YouTube montage</a> (embedded below). For six years Noah took a picture of himself every day. Personally I find Noah’s video collage to be one of the most beautiful and truly frightening things I’ve ever seen, which probably explains why it’s one of the most watched movies on YouTube.
+
+Each photograph on its own is mundane, hardly worth comment, but in rapid succession they stitch together and form a thread of time moving through life, and even though we watch Noah pass through six years in three minutes, as you watch his face becomes after a while only a thin veil between our own reflection in the screen and time screaming past.
+
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I've been doing this for the better part of three years now. I realized recently that I have no real idea how I came to be here. </break></p> +<p>All I can do is trace the timeline like a boring history professor: my girlfriend dumped me, which in turn inspired me to quit the job I had at the time (which I hated anyway) and then I drove to Athens GA because it was the last sane moment I could think of, but I ran into a friend who was recently back from Asia so I decided to go to Asia. I didn't have much money and I didn't want to work. So I came out here to Los Angeles and started building websites for a friend of a friend. By the end of summer I had enough money to go on my trip. So I left, traveled around Asia for nine months and returned here to Los Angeles. Then I got a job writing for Wired from a friend. </p> +<p>I will never exactly understand how getting dumped and quitting what was arguably a good job in spite of the fact that I hated it, somehow managed to get me to a better place, but it did. I don't even know why I bother to tell you these things, except perhaps as a way of expressing my gratitude to all my friends because if we back up and look at all the key plot points in the last three years of my life, none of them are the result of my talents or skills, they were all gifts handed to me by friends, very good friends, friends I wish I could do more for, friends I will miss very much now that I am leaving.</p> +<p>I don't really know where I am going, but I'll be sure to send some postcards along the way and when I raise a glass it will be, as Bukowski wrote -- to all my friends.</p> + </div> + </article> +</main> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/03/goodbye-mother-and-cove.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/03/goodbye-mother-and-cove.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..50de0a7 --- /dev/null +++ b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/03/goodbye-mother-and-cove.html @@ -0,0 +1,333 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html +class="detail single" dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> + +<head> + <title>Goodbye To The Mother And The Cove - by Scott Gilbertson</title> + <meta charset="utf-8"> + <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <meta name="description" + content="Los Angeles I'm yours. 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I’ve been doing this for the better part of three years now. I realized recently that I have no real idea how I came to be here. </p> +<p>All I can do is trace the timeline like a boring history professor: my girlfriend dumped me, which in turn inspired me to quit the job I had at the time (which I hated anyway) and then I drove to Athens GA because it was the last sane moment I could think of, but I ran into a friend who was recently back from Asia so I decided to go to Asia. I didn’t have much money and I didn’t want to work. So I came out here to Los Angeles and started building websites for a friend of a friend. By the end of summer I had enough money to go on my trip. So I left, traveled around Asia for nine months and returned here to Los Angeles. Then I got a job writing for Wired from a friend. </p> +<p>I will never exactly understand how getting dumped and quitting what was arguably a good job in spite of the fact that I hated it, somehow managed to get me to a better place, but it did. I don’t even know why I bother to tell you these things, except perhaps as a way of expressing my gratitude to all my friends because if we back up and look at all the key plot points in the last three years of my life, none of them are the result of my talents or skills, they were all gifts handed to me by friends, very good friends, friends I wish I could do more for, friends I will miss very much now that I am leaving.</p> +<p>I don’t really know where I am going, but I’ll be sure to send some postcards along the way and when I raise a glass it will be, as Bukowski wrote — to all my friends.</p> + </div> + + </article> + + + <div class="nav-wrapper"> + <nav id="page-navigation" class="page-border-top"> + <ul> + <li id="prev"><span class="bl">Previous:</span> + <a href="/jrnl/2007/02/everything-all-time" rel="prev" title=" Everything All The Time">Everything All The Time</a> + </li> + <li id="next"><span class="bl">Next:</span> + <a href="/jrnl/2007/06/sailing-through" rel="next" title=" Sailing Through">Sailing Through</a> + </li> + </ul> + </nav> + </div> + + + + + + +<div class="comment--form--wrapper "> + +<div class="comment--form--header"> + <p class="hed">Thoughts?</p> + <p class="subhed">Please leave a reply:</p> +</div> +<form action="/comments/post/" method="post" class="comment--form"> + +<input type="hidden" name="rder" value="" /> + + + <input type="hidden" name="content_type" value="jrnl.entry" id="id_content_type"> + + + + <input type="hidden" name="object_pk" value="75" id="id_object_pk"> + + + + <input type="hidden" name="timestamp" value="1596833472" id="id_timestamp"> + + + + <input type="hidden" name="security_hash" value="50c8f8434c6e473497621121be31a7ae1f6d6021" id="id_security_hash"> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_name">Name:</label> + <input type="text" name="name" maxlength="50" required id="id_name"> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_email">Email address:</label> + <input type="email" name="email" required id="id_email"> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_url">URL:</label> + <input type="url" name="url" id="id_url"> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_comment">Comment:</label> + <div class="textarea-rounded"><textarea name="comment" cols="40" rows="10" maxlength="3000" required id="id_comment"> +</textarea></div> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset style="display:none;"> + <label for="id_honeypot">If you enter anything in this field your comment will be treated as spam:</label> + <input type="text" name="honeypot" id="id_honeypot"> + </fieldset> + + + <div class="submit"> + <input type="submit" name="post" class="submit-post btn" value="Post" /> + <input type="submit" name="preview" class="submit-preview btn" value="Preview" /> + </div> +</form> +<p style="font-size: 95%;"><strong>All comments are moderated</strong>, so you won’t see it right away. 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+
+<break>
+<img src="[[base_url]]/2007/cloud.jpg" class="postpic" alt="clouds over Santa Monica" /> It's strange how you can plan something, go through all the motions of making it happen without ever really understanding what you're doing. I've been doing this for the better part of three years now. I realized recently that I have no real idea how I came to be here.
+
+All I can do is trace the timeline like a boring history professor: my girlfriend dumped me, which in turn inspired me to quit the job I had at the time (which I hated anyway) and then I drove to Athens GA because it was the last sane moment I could think of, but I ran into a friend who was recently back from Asia so I decided to go to Asia. I didn't have much money and I didn't want to work. So I came out here to Los Angeles and started building websites for a friend of a friend. By the end of summer I had enough money to go on my trip. So I left, traveled around Asia for nine months and returned here to Los Angeles. Then I got a job writing for Wired from a friend.
+
+I will never exactly understand how getting dumped and quitting what was arguably a good job in spite of the fact that I hated it, somehow managed to get me to a better place, but it did. I don't even know why I bother to tell you these things, except perhaps as a way of expressing my gratitude to all my friends because if we back up and look at all the key plot points in the last three years of my life, none of them are the result of my talents or skills, they were all gifts handed to me by friends, very good friends, friends I wish I could do more for, friends I will miss very much now that I am leaving.
+
+I don't really know where I am going, but I'll be sure to send some postcards along the way and when I raise a glass it will be, as Bukowski wrote -- to all my friends. diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/03/index.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/03/index.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ce61617 --- /dev/null +++ b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/03/index.html @@ -0,0 +1,104 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> + +<head> + <title>Luxagraf - Topografical Writings: Archive</title> + <meta charset="utf-8"> + <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <meta name="description" + content="Luxagraf: recording journeys around the world and just next door."> + <meta name="author" content="Scott Gilbertson"> + <!--[if IE]> + <script src="/js/html5css3ie.min.js"></script> + <![endif]--> + <link rel="alternate" + type="application/rss+xml" + title="Luxagraf RSS feed" + href="https://luxagraf.net/rss/"> + <link rel="stylesheet" + href="/media/screenv8.css" + media="screen"> + <!--[if IE]> + <link rel="stylesheet" + href="/media/css/ie.css" + media="screen"> + <![endif]--> + <link rel="shortcut icon" href="favicon.ico" type="image/x-icon"> + <link rel="manifest" href="manifest.json"> + <meta property="fb:pages" content="900822029969349" /> + +</head> +<body id="archive"> + <div class="wrapper" id="wrapper"> + <div class="header-wrapper"> + <header role="banner"> + <h1><a id="logo" href="/" title="home">Luxagraf</a></h1> + <h2>Walk Slowly</h2> + </header> + <nav role="navigation" class="bl"> + <ul> + <li id="laverdad"><a href="/jrnl/" title="What we've been up to lately">Journal</a></li> + <!--<li id="nota"><a href="/field-notes/" title="Quick notes and images from the road">Notes</a></li> + <li id="fotos"><a href="/photos/" title="Photos from travels around the world">Photos</a></li>i--> + <li id="maps"><a href="/map" title="Maps">Map</a></li> + <li id="about"><a href="/about" title="About Luxagraf">About</a></li> + <li id="etc" class="last"><a href="/projects/" title="the less visible portions of the iceberg">More</a></li> + </ul> + </nav> + </div> + <ul class="bl" id="breadcrumbs" itemscope itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/Breadcrumb"> + <li><a href="/" title="luxagraf homepage" itemprop="url"><span itemprop="title">Home</span></a> → </li> + <li><a href="/jrnl/" title="See all Journal Entries" itemprop="url"><span itemprop="title">Journal</span></a> →</li> + <li><a href="/jrnl/2007/">2007</a> →</li> + <li>March</li> + </ul> + <main role="main" id="writing-archive" class="archive"> + <h1> Archive: March 2007</h1> + <ul class="date-archive"> + <li class="arc-item"><a href="/jrnl/2007/03/goodbye-mother-and-cove" title="Goodbye to the Mother and the Cove">Goodbye to the Mother and the Cove</a> + <time datetime="2007-03-01T11:15:10-05:00">Mar 01, 2007</time> + </li> + </ul> + + + + <footer role="contentinfo"> + <nav class="bl"> + <ul> + <li><a href="/blogroll" title="Sites that inspire us">Blogroll</a></li> + <li><a href="/jrnl/feed.xml" title="RSS feed">Subscribe</a></li> + <li><a href="/contact/" title="contact luxagraf">Contact</a></li> + <li><a href="https://twitter.com/luxagraf" rel="me" title="follow luxagraf on Twitter">Twitter</a></li> + <li><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/luxagraf" rel="me" title="luxagraf on Flickr">Flickr</a></li> + <li><a href="https://www.facebook.com/luxagraf" rel="me" title="luxagraf on Facebook">Facebook</a></li> + <li><a href="https://www.instagram.com/luxagraf/" rel="me" title="luxagraf on Instacrap">Instacrap</a></li> + </ul> + </nav> + <p id="license"> + © 2003-2018 + <span class="h-card"><a class="p-name u-url" href="https://luxagraf.net/">Scott Gilbertson</a><data class="p-nickname" value="luxagraf"></data><data class="p-locality" value="Athens"></data><data class="p-region" value="Georgia"></data><data class="p-country-name" value="United States"></data></span>, except photos, which are licensed under the Creative Commons (<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/" title="read the Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 deed">details</a>). + </p> + </footer> + </div> + +<!-- Piwik --> +<script type="text/javascript"> +var _paq = _paq || []; 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For instance, most of the country has golf courses, in Myrtle Beach there are endless rows of putt-putt courses complete with sewage treatment blue waterfalls and variety of kitschy themes.</p> +<p><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/curtis-and-eric/461513916/"><amp-img alt="Myrtle Beach, SC Spring Break 2007, image by Curtis and Eric, flickr CC" height="133" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/myrtlebeach.jpg" width="298"></amp-img></a>And where most towns attempt to draw in big name musical acts for their tourist venues, Myrtle Beach is content with impersonators, which can be found on any given night at any number of lounge venues hacking through pastiches of everything from Prince and Justin Timberlake, to a mock Grand Ol' Opry. +<break> +<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/44165698@N00/11410462/"><amp-img alt="Myrtle Beach, SC putt putt" height="151" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/bluewaterfall.jpg" width="257"></amp-img></a>But I refer to Myrtle Beach as a copy of a place that doesn't exist because on some level Myrtle Beach is just an imitation Vegas. But Las Vegas has already begun its transformation from imitator of itself to imitator of the world. Just consider the themed hotel resorts -- The Venetian with its canals, The Luxor with its Egyptian theme and of course New York-New York -- all of which are geared toward recreating aspects of other places together in one easy to reach spot.</break></p> +<p>Call it real-world virtual tourism.</p> +<p>The cynical take, for those of us that enjoy traveling to the actual destinations, is "hey, it keeps the annoying tourists out of the real locations." And while I refuse to wholly give in to that notion, I nevertheless admit its appeal.</p> +<p>It is tempting for travelers to sit back and criticize your typical American, British or German on holiday<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/bren/9688470/"><amp-img alt="Gondola at the Venetian - Las Vegas" height="150" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/venetian.jpg" width="260"></amp-img></a> (since those are in my experience the greatest offenders in this category) as if the traveler had somehow earned the right to be there -- by virtue of, let's face it, our own invented self-superiority -- which simply isn't true.</p> +<p>When I was younger I saw a movie, <cite>The Man From Snowy River</cite> which is set in Australia and involves a sort of feud between high country and low country dwellers (among other things). Both sides are snobs toward the other, the low country folk are rich and land holding while the inhabitants of the high country are mainly poor, but work the actual land -- a fairly typical dichotomy in the western world circa 1900.</p> +<p>In the film Kirk Douglas plays an old wizened high country dweller who at one point tells the young protagonist, who is caught between the two worlds, "you have to earn the right to live up here."</p> +<p>And that's a tempting philosophy to cling to, but it has some problems. For one thing, at what point have you earned the right to live there? Who decides what is necessary to earn the right to live there? And the list goes on.</p> +<p>Still, anyone who's been up to the top of an Angkor Wat temple to watch the sun set knows the appeal of the notion that perhaps, just to cut down on the crowds you understand, perhaps there ought to be some sort of trial in which you have to earn the right to be there. Everyone but you and I of course.</p> +<p>However, despite recognizing the inherent hypocrisy in the notion of earning the right to be anywhere, there is, I believe, a fundamental difference between a tourist for whom Myrtle Beach is an appealing destination, and, well, the rest of us.</p> +<p>"Traveler" is the suitably generic term I use to distinguish those who are not simply tourists passing through in air-con comfort. But the real difference between a tourist and traveler is philosophical. </p> +<p>A tourist attempts to see a destination much in the way we watch an enjoyable television program -- peacefully and without too great of discomfort. Their philosophy (as I understand it from observing them) is to actually <em>see</em> a destination with their own eyes, rather than simply watch or read of it.</p> +<p>These individuals recognize that just watching Rick Steves' thirty minute tours on PBS is not the same as actually walking through the Piazza San Marco in Venice -- but that's as far as they are willing to go. God forbid the air-con fail or the drinks lack ice. +<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/jesst7/222338678/"><amp-img alt="Piazza San Marco" height="240" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/sanmarco.jpg" width="368"></amp-img></a>For this sort of approach to travel (and let me just say that I don't think everyone on a package tour is necessarily that shallow) the imitation destinations like Myrtle Beach or Las Vegas are ideal. </p> +<p>The images dancing before your eyes are after all, at least on some level, virtual.</p> +<p>Thus the tourist's expectations are largely met in a virtual destination -- very little danger, the water is drinkable, the sights damn near the same and there's ice in the drinks.</p> +<p>On the other hand, travelers don't generally seem to be content with just seeing. There is a more full frontal approach if you will.</p> +<p>And for those that enjoy small children throwing up on them on crowded buses, accept dysentery as part of price to be paid for the joy of the foreign and who welcome the dodgy food, the suspect ice, the insects, the garbage, the poverty and all the other experiences which, for better or worse make up world travel, there still remains, well, the world.Which is why there's an international airport near you -- even in Myrtle Beach.</p> +<p>[None of the above photos are mine, click individual images for details]</p> + </div> + </article> +</main> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/06/being-there.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/06/being-there.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e7253fa --- /dev/null +++ b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/06/being-there.html @@ -0,0 +1,350 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html +class="detail single" dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> + +<head> + <title>Being There - by Scott Gilbertson</title> + <meta charset="utf-8"> + <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <meta name="description" + content="From north of the Mason-Dixon or west of the Mississippi, Myrtle Beach looks like everything that's wrong with America. 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For instance, most of the country has golf courses, in Myrtle Beach there are endless rows of putt-putt courses complete with sewage treatment blue waterfalls and variety of kitschy themes.</p> +<p><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/curtis-and-eric/461513916/"><img alt="Myrtle Beach, SC Spring Break 2007, image by Curtis and Eric, flickr CC" class="postpic" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/myrtlebeach.jpg"/></a>And where most towns attempt to draw in big name musical acts for their tourist venues, Myrtle Beach is content with impersonators, which can be found on any given night at any number of lounge venues hacking through pastiches of everything from Prince and Justin Timberlake, to a mock Grand Ol’ Opry. +<break> +<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/44165698@N00/11410462/"><img alt="Myrtle Beach, SC putt putt" class="postpicright" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/bluewaterfall.jpg"/></a>But I refer to Myrtle Beach as a copy of a place that doesn’t exist because on some level Myrtle Beach is just an imitation Vegas. But Las Vegas has already begun its transformation from imitator of itself to imitator of the world. Just consider the themed hotel resorts — The Venetian with its canals, The Luxor with its Egyptian theme and of course New York-New York — all of which are geared toward recreating aspects of other places together in one easy to reach spot.</p> +<p>Call it real-world virtual tourism.</p> +<p>The cynical take, for those of us that enjoy traveling to the actual destinations, is “hey, it keeps the annoying tourists out of the real locations.” And while I refuse to wholly give in to that notion, I nevertheless admit its appeal.</p> +<p>It is tempting for travelers to sit back and criticize your typical American, British or German on holiday<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/bren/9688470/"><img alt="Gondola at the Venetian - Las Vegas" class="postpic" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/venetian.jpg"/></a> (since those are in my experience the greatest offenders in this category) as if the traveler had somehow earned the right to be there — by virtue of, let’s face it, our own invented self-superiority — which simply isn’t true.</p> +<p>When I was younger I saw a movie, <cite>The Man From Snowy River</cite> which is set in Australia and involves a sort of feud between high country and low country dwellers (among other things). Both sides are snobs toward the other, the low country folk are rich and land holding while the inhabitants of the high country are mainly poor, but work the actual land — a fairly typical dichotomy in the western world circa 1900.</p> +<p>In the film Kirk Douglas plays an old wizened high country dweller who at one point tells the young protagonist, who is caught between the two worlds, “you have to earn the right to live up here.”</p> +<p>And that’s a tempting philosophy to cling to, but it has some problems. For one thing, at what point have you earned the right to live there? Who decides what is necessary to earn the right to live there? And the list goes on.</p> +<p>Still, anyone who’s been up to the top of an Angkor Wat temple to watch the sun set knows the appeal of the notion that perhaps, just to cut down on the crowds you understand, perhaps there ought to be some sort of trial in which you have to earn the right to be there. Everyone but you and I of course.</p> +<p>However, despite recognizing the inherent hypocrisy in the notion of earning the right to be anywhere, there is, I believe, a fundamental difference between a tourist for whom Myrtle Beach is an appealing destination, and, well, the rest of us.</p> +<p>“Traveler” is the suitably generic term I use to distinguish those who are not simply tourists passing through in air-con comfort. But the real difference between a tourist and traveler is philosophical. </p> +<p>A tourist attempts to see a destination much in the way we watch an enjoyable television program — peacefully and without too great of discomfort. Their philosophy (as I understand it from observing them) is to actually <em>see</em> a destination with their own eyes, rather than simply watch or read of it.</p> +<p>These individuals recognize that just watching Rick Steves’ thirty minute tours on PBS is not the same as actually walking through the Piazza San Marco in Venice — but that’s as far as they are willing to go. God forbid the air-con fail or the drinks lack ice. +<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/jesst7/222338678/"><img alt="Piazza San Marco" class="postpic" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/sanmarco.jpg"/></a>For this sort of approach to travel (and let me just say that I don’t think everyone on a package tour is necessarily that shallow) the imitation destinations like Myrtle Beach or Las Vegas are ideal. </p> +<p>The images dancing before your eyes are after all, at least on some level, virtual.</p> +<p>Thus the tourist’s expectations are largely met in a virtual destination — very little danger, the water is drinkable, the sights damn near the same and there’s ice in the drinks.</p> +<p>On the other hand, travelers don’t generally seem to be content with just seeing. There is a more full frontal approach if you will.</p> +<p>And for those that enjoy small children throwing up on them on crowded buses, accept dysentery as part of price to be paid for the joy of the foreign and who welcome the dodgy food, the suspect ice, the insects, the garbage, the poverty and all the other experiences which, for better or worse make up world travel, there still remains, well, the world.Which is why there’s an international airport near you — even in Myrtle Beach.</p> +<p>[None of the above photos are mine, click individual images for details]</p> + </div> + + </article> + + + <div class="nav-wrapper"> + <nav id="page-navigation" class="page-border-top"> + <ul> + <li id="prev"><span class="bl">Previous:</span> + <a href="/jrnl/2007/06/sailing-through" rel="prev" title=" Sailing Through">Sailing Through</a> + </li> + <li id="next"><span class="bl">Next:</span> + <a href="/jrnl/2007/07/other-ocean" rel="next" title=" On The Other Ocean">On The Other Ocean</a> + </li> + </ul> + </nav> + </div> + + + + + + +<div class="comment--form--wrapper "> + +<div class="comment--form--header"> + <p class="hed">Thoughts?</p> + <p class="subhed">Please leave a reply:</p> +</div> +<form action="/comments/post/" method="post" class="comment--form"> + +<input type="hidden" name="rder" value="" /> + + + <input type="hidden" name="content_type" value="jrnl.entry" id="id_content_type"> + + + + <input type="hidden" name="object_pk" value="77" id="id_object_pk"> + + + + <input type="hidden" name="timestamp" value="1596833472" id="id_timestamp"> + + + + <input type="hidden" name="security_hash" value="2d9b5a6328844226591a2039937c27b07b468e51" id="id_security_hash"> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_name">Name:</label> + <input type="text" name="name" maxlength="50" required id="id_name"> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_email">Email address:</label> + <input type="email" name="email" required id="id_email"> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_url">URL:</label> + <input type="url" name="url" id="id_url"> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_comment">Comment:</label> + <div class="textarea-rounded"><textarea name="comment" cols="40" rows="10" maxlength="3000" required id="id_comment"> +</textarea></div> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset style="display:none;"> + <label for="id_honeypot">If you enter anything in this field your comment will be treated as spam:</label> + <input type="text" name="honeypot" id="id_honeypot"> + </fieldset> + + + <div class="submit"> + <input type="submit" name="post" class="submit-post btn" value="Post" /> + <input type="submit" name="preview" class="submit-preview btn" value="Preview" /> + </div> +</form> +<p style="font-size: 95%;"><strong>All comments are moderated</strong>, so you won’t see it right away. 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+
+Myrtle Beach is in fact a copy of a place that does not exist.
+
+Nearly everything in Myrtle Beach is a paltry derivative of some original form. For instance, most of the country has golf courses, in Myrtle Beach there are endless rows of putt-putt courses complete with sewage treatment blue waterfalls and variety of kitschy themes.
+
+<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/curtis-and-eric/461513916/"><img src="[[base_url]]/2007/myrtlebeach.jpg" class="postpic" alt="Myrtle Beach, SC Spring Break 2007, image by Curtis and Eric, flickr CC" /></a>And where most towns attempt to draw in big name musical acts for their tourist venues, Myrtle Beach is content with impersonators, which can be found on any given night at any number of lounge venues hacking through pastiches of everything from Prince and Justin Timberlake, to a mock Grand Ol' Opry.
+<break>
+<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/44165698@N00/11410462/"><img src="[[base_url]]/2007/bluewaterfall.jpg" class="postpicright" alt="Myrtle Beach, SC putt putt" /></a>But I refer to Myrtle Beach as a copy of a place that doesn't exist because on some level Myrtle Beach is just an imitation Vegas. But Las Vegas has already begun its transformation from imitator of itself to imitator of the world. Just consider the themed hotel resorts -- The Venetian with its canals, The Luxor with its Egyptian theme and of course New York-New York -- all of which are geared toward recreating aspects of other places together in one easy to reach spot.
+
+Call it real-world virtual tourism.
+
+The cynical take, for those of us that enjoy traveling to the actual destinations, is "hey, it keeps the annoying tourists out of the real locations." And while I refuse to wholly give in to that notion, I nevertheless admit its appeal.
+
+It is tempting for travelers to sit back and criticize your typical American, British or German on holiday<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/bren/9688470/"><img src="[[base_url]]/2007/venetian.jpg" class="postpic" alt="Gondola at the Venetian - Las Vegas" /></a> (since those are in my experience the greatest offenders in this category) as if the traveler had somehow earned the right to be there -- by virtue of, let's face it, our own invented self-superiority -- which simply isn't true.
+
+When I was younger I saw a movie, <cite>The Man From Snowy River</cite> which is set in Australia and involves a sort of feud between high country and low country dwellers (among other things). Both sides are snobs toward the other, the low country folk are rich and land holding while the inhabitants of the high country are mainly poor, but work the actual land -- a fairly typical dichotomy in the western world circa 1900.
+
+In the film Kirk Douglas plays an old wizened high country dweller who at one point tells the young protagonist, who is caught between the two worlds, "you have to earn the right to live up here."
+
+And that's a tempting philosophy to cling to, but it has some problems. For one thing, at what point have you earned the right to live there? Who decides what is necessary to earn the right to live there? And the list goes on.
+
+Still, anyone who's been up to the top of an Angkor Wat temple to watch the sun set knows the appeal of the notion that perhaps, just to cut down on the crowds you understand, perhaps there ought to be some sort of trial in which you have to earn the right to be there. Everyone but you and I of course.
+
+However, despite recognizing the inherent hypocrisy in the notion of earning the right to be anywhere, there is, I believe, a fundamental difference between a tourist for whom Myrtle Beach is an appealing destination, and, well, the rest of us.
+
+"Traveler" is the suitably generic term I use to distinguish those who are not simply tourists passing through in air-con comfort. But the real difference between a tourist and traveler is philosophical.
+
+A tourist attempts to see a destination much in the way we watch an enjoyable television program -- peacefully and without too great of discomfort. Their philosophy (as I understand it from observing them) is to actually *see* a destination with their own eyes, rather than simply watch or read of it.
+
+These individuals recognize that just watching Rick Steves' thirty minute tours on PBS is not the same as actually walking through the Piazza San Marco in Venice -- but that's as far as they are willing to go. God forbid the air-con fail or the drinks lack ice.
+<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/jesst7/222338678/"><img src="[[base_url]]/2007/sanmarco.jpg" class="postpic" alt="Piazza San Marco" /></a>For this sort of approach to travel (and let me just say that I don't think everyone on a package tour is necessarily that shallow) the imitation destinations like Myrtle Beach or Las Vegas are ideal.
+
+The images dancing before your eyes are after all, at least on some level, virtual.
+
+Thus the tourist's expectations are largely met in a virtual destination -- very little danger, the water is drinkable, the sights damn near the same and there's ice in the drinks.
+
+On the other hand, travelers don't generally seem to be content with just seeing. There is a more full frontal approach if you will.
+
+And for those that enjoy small children throwing up on them on crowded buses, accept dysentery as part of price to be paid for the joy of the foreign and who welcome the dodgy food, the suspect ice, the insects, the garbage, the poverty and all the other experiences which, for better or worse make up world travel, there still remains, well, the world.Which is why there's an international airport near you -- even in Myrtle Beach.
+
+[None of the above photos are mine, click individual images for details] diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/06/index.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/06/index.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..06f20d5 --- /dev/null +++ b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/06/index.html @@ -0,0 +1,107 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> + +<head> + <title>Luxagraf - Topografical Writings: Archive</title> + <meta charset="utf-8"> + <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <meta name="description" + content="Luxagraf: recording journeys around the world and just next door."> + <meta name="author" content="Scott Gilbertson"> + <!--[if IE]> + <script src="/js/html5css3ie.min.js"></script> + <![endif]--> + <link rel="alternate" + type="application/rss+xml" + title="Luxagraf RSS feed" + href="https://luxagraf.net/rss/"> + <link rel="stylesheet" + href="/media/screenv8.css" + media="screen"> + <!--[if IE]> + <link rel="stylesheet" + href="/media/css/ie.css" + media="screen"> + <![endif]--> + <link rel="shortcut icon" href="favicon.ico" type="image/x-icon"> + <link rel="manifest" href="manifest.json"> + <meta property="fb:pages" content="900822029969349" /> + +</head> +<body id="archive"> + <div class="wrapper" id="wrapper"> + <div class="header-wrapper"> + <header role="banner"> + <h1><a id="logo" href="/" title="home">Luxagraf</a></h1> + <h2>Walk Slowly</h2> + </header> + <nav role="navigation" class="bl"> + <ul> + <li id="laverdad"><a href="/jrnl/" title="What we've been up to lately">Journal</a></li> + <!--<li id="nota"><a href="/field-notes/" title="Quick notes and images from the road">Notes</a></li> + <li id="fotos"><a href="/photos/" title="Photos from travels around the world">Photos</a></li>i--> + <li id="maps"><a href="/map" title="Maps">Map</a></li> + <li id="about"><a href="/about" title="About Luxagraf">About</a></li> + <li id="etc" class="last"><a href="/projects/" title="the less visible portions of the iceberg">More</a></li> + </ul> + </nav> + </div> + <ul class="bl" id="breadcrumbs" itemscope itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/Breadcrumb"> + <li><a href="/" title="luxagraf homepage" itemprop="url"><span itemprop="title">Home</span></a> → </li> + <li><a href="/jrnl/" title="See all Journal Entries" itemprop="url"><span itemprop="title">Journal</span></a> →</li> + <li><a href="/jrnl/2007/">2007</a> →</li> + <li>June</li> + </ul> + <main role="main" id="writing-archive" class="archive"> + <h1> Archive: June 2007</h1> + <ul class="date-archive"> + <li class="arc-item"><a href="/jrnl/2007/06/being-there" title="Being There">Being There</a> + <time datetime="2007-06-17T02:18:54-04:00">Jun 17, 2007</time> + </li> + <li class="arc-item"><a href="/jrnl/2007/06/sailing-through" title="Sailing Through">Sailing Through</a> + <time datetime="2007-06-15T00:15:43-04:00">Jun 15, 2007</time> + </li> + </ul> + + + + <footer role="contentinfo"> + <nav class="bl"> + <ul> + <li><a href="/blogroll" title="Sites that inspire us">Blogroll</a></li> + <li><a href="/jrnl/feed.xml" title="RSS feed">Subscribe</a></li> + <li><a href="/contact/" title="contact luxagraf">Contact</a></li> + <li><a href="https://twitter.com/luxagraf" rel="me" title="follow luxagraf on Twitter">Twitter</a></li> + <li><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/luxagraf" rel="me" title="luxagraf on Flickr">Flickr</a></li> + <li><a href="https://www.facebook.com/luxagraf" rel="me" title="luxagraf on Facebook">Facebook</a></li> + <li><a href="https://www.instagram.com/luxagraf/" rel="me" title="luxagraf on Instacrap">Instacrap</a></li> + </ul> + </nav> + <p id="license"> + © 2003-2018 + <span class="h-card"><a class="p-name u-url" href="https://luxagraf.net/">Scott Gilbertson</a><data class="p-nickname" value="luxagraf"></data><data class="p-locality" value="Athens"></data><data class="p-region" value="Georgia"></data><data class="p-country-name" value="United States"></data></span>, except photos, which are licensed under the Creative Commons (<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/" title="read the Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 deed">details</a>). + </p> + </footer> + </div> + +<!-- Piwik --> +<script type="text/javascript"> +var _paq = _paq || []; 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The sun feels like a curse that's been hanging over you since birth. Not a cloud in the sky.</p> +<p>And so it goes. Here in Charleston, SC. The rumors are true. I moved back to the south, Athens GA to be exact -- more on that later. But I hate staying in one place for too long, so after a month or two in Athens I headed up to Charleston to visit a friend. </p> +<p>The south is curious place. If you've never been here I couldn't hope to explain it, but it's not so much a place as an approach. A way of getting somewhere more than anywhere specific. Perhaps even a wrong turn. </p> +<p>Here's what we know for sure: Californian is not the south. Texas is also not the south. Charleston throws seersucker suits in the mix, but hey, nothing's perfect.</p> +<p><amp-img alt="duke's mayonnaise" height="223" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/dukes.jpg" width="151"></amp-img>There was a piece in the New York Times a while back that argued that the South begins not at the Mason-Dixon line, as history would have us believe, but where the restaurants switch over to sweetened tea. But most Times writers have never left Manhattan and won't recognize the South even when they're dipped in tar and run out of it. The truth is the South begins and ends wherever you can find Duke's Mayonnaise on the shelves of your local grocer.</p> +<p>There's mayonnaise. And then there's Duke's. Even at the baseball game there's Duke's. </p> +<p>But it was the heat that started it. Thunderstorms and heat.</p> +<p>Apparently the Charleston emergency broadcast system has never heard the story on the boy who cried wolf. Or they just didn't walk away with much. Not only is there not a cloud in the sky, there was a tropical depression big enough to have a name that didn't warrant any alerts when it blew through yesterday. </p> +<p>It seems safe to assume that the local elements of FEMA are run by the same type of highly qualified individuals that staff the higher government offices of this strange, confused land.</p> +<p>I first came to Charleston about a month ago, I've come and gone twice since then. The weather was mild when I first arrived, an onshore breeze to rattle the Palmetto leaves, tufts of cloud hanging over the sea. We lay on our backs floating in the brine and watching the sun arc the sky.</p> +<p>One weekend we wandered the shipping yards ogling the tall ships, a festival of them, blown in on favorable winds you might say. We failed, despite our best efforts, to be shanghaied off into the ocean, pressed into five months before the mast on our way back to Italy. </p> +<p><amp-img alt="tall ships festival" height="223" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/tallships.jpg" width="155"></amp-img>A kind of wanderlust seizes me whenever I am near boats -- the world was, after all, discovered by men and women of the sea. And I don't mean those Spaniards with their metal helmets, I mean the much older explorers departing from east on dugout canoes with spears for fishing and courage of a sort that they took with them to their graves. They reached the islands -- Hawaii, Tahiti, Fiji and so many more -- before their European counterparts had even consider the mast, let alone pressed anyone into service before it.</p> +<p>Failing kidnapping, we turned to tequila and night-swimming, always a heady and dangerous mix, but we pulled through in spite of the hiccups.</p> +<p>It took me nine years to get here. I enjoyed them. Every bit of them. Stay tuned.</p> + </div> + </article> +</main> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/06/sailing-through.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/06/sailing-through.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6ae5b54 --- /dev/null +++ b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/06/sailing-through.html @@ -0,0 +1,343 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html +class="detail single" dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> + +<head> + <title>Sailing Through - by Scott Gilbertson</title> + <meta charset="utf-8"> + <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <meta name="description" + content="The American South is curious place. I couldn't hope to explain it, except to say it isn't so much a place as an approach to life. 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The sun feels like a curse that’s been hanging over you since birth. Not a cloud in the sky.</p> +<p>And so it goes. Here in Charleston, SC. The rumors are true. I moved back to the south, Athens GA to be exact — more on that later. But I hate staying in one place for too long, so after a month or two in Athens I headed up to Charleston to visit a friend. </p> +<p>The south is curious place. If you’ve never been here I couldn’t hope to explain it, but it’s not so much a place as an approach. A way of getting somewhere more than anywhere specific. Perhaps even a wrong turn. </p> +<p>Here’s what we know for sure: Californian is not the south. Texas is also not the south. Charleston throws seersucker suits in the mix, but hey, nothing’s perfect.</p> +<p><img alt="duke's mayonnaise" class="postpicright" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/dukes.jpg"/>There was a piece in the New York Times a while back that argued that the South begins not at the Mason-Dixon line, as history would have us believe, but where the restaurants switch over to sweetened tea. But most Times writers have never left Manhattan and won’t recognize the South even when they’re dipped in tar and run out of it. The truth is the South begins and ends wherever you can find Duke’s Mayonnaise on the shelves of your local grocer.</p> +<p>There’s mayonnaise. And then there’s Duke’s. Even at the baseball game there’s Duke’s. </p> +<p>But it was the heat that started it. Thunderstorms and heat.</p> +<p>Apparently the Charleston emergency broadcast system has never heard the story on the boy who cried wolf. Or they just didn’t walk away with much. Not only is there not a cloud in the sky, there was a tropical depression big enough to have a name that didn’t warrant any alerts when it blew through yesterday. </p> +<p>It seems safe to assume that the local elements of FEMA are run by the same type of highly qualified individuals that staff the higher government offices of this strange, confused land.</p> +<p>I first came to Charleston about a month ago, I’ve come and gone twice since then. The weather was mild when I first arrived, an onshore breeze to rattle the Palmetto leaves, tufts of cloud hanging over the sea. We lay on our backs floating in the brine and watching the sun arc the sky.</p> +<p>One weekend we wandered the shipping yards ogling the tall ships, a festival of them, blown in on favorable winds you might say. We failed, despite our best efforts, to be shanghaied off into the ocean, pressed into five months before the mast on our way back to Italy. </p> +<p><img alt="tall ships festival" class="postpic" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/tallships.jpg"/>A kind of wanderlust seizes me whenever I am near boats — the world was, after all, discovered by men and women of the sea. And I don’t mean those Spaniards with their metal helmets, I mean the much older explorers departing from east on dugout canoes with spears for fishing and courage of a sort that they took with them to their graves. They reached the islands — Hawaii, Tahiti, Fiji and so many more — before their European counterparts had even consider the mast, let alone pressed anyone into service before it.</p> +<p>Failing kidnapping, we turned to tequila and night-swimming, always a heady and dangerous mix, but we pulled through in spite of the hiccups.</p> +<p>It took me nine years to get here. I enjoyed them. Every bit of them. Stay tuned.</p> + </div> + + </article> + + + <div class="nav-wrapper"> + <nav id="page-navigation" class="page-border-top"> + <ul> + <li id="prev"><span class="bl">Previous:</span> + <a href="/jrnl/2007/03/goodbye-mother-and-cove" rel="prev" title=" Goodbye to the Mother and the Cove">Goodbye to the Mother and the Cove</a> + </li> + <li id="next"><span class="bl">Next:</span> + <a href="/jrnl/2007/06/being-there" rel="next" title=" Being There">Being There</a> + </li> + </ul> + </nav> + </div> + + + + + + +<div class="comment--form--wrapper "> + +<div class="comment--form--header"> + <p class="hed">Thoughts?</p> + <p class="subhed">Please leave a reply:</p> +</div> +<form action="/comments/post/" method="post" class="comment--form"> + +<input type="hidden" name="rder" value="" /> + + + <input type="hidden" name="content_type" value="jrnl.entry" id="id_content_type"> + + + + <input type="hidden" name="object_pk" value="76" id="id_object_pk"> + + + + <input type="hidden" name="timestamp" value="1596833472" id="id_timestamp"> + + + + <input type="hidden" name="security_hash" value="71f7f861e1c7f5ed77b13ea1f68e99adc832e6ea" id="id_security_hash"> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_name">Name:</label> + <input type="text" name="name" maxlength="50" required id="id_name"> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_email">Email address:</label> + <input type="email" name="email" required id="id_email"> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_url">URL:</label> + <input type="url" name="url" id="id_url"> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_comment">Comment:</label> + <div class="textarea-rounded"><textarea name="comment" cols="40" rows="10" maxlength="3000" required id="id_comment"> +</textarea></div> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset style="display:none;"> + <label for="id_honeypot">If you enter anything in this field your comment will be treated as spam:</label> + <input type="text" name="honeypot" id="id_honeypot"> + </fieldset> + + + <div class="submit"> + <input type="submit" name="post" class="submit-post btn" value="Post" /> + <input type="submit" name="preview" class="submit-preview btn" value="Preview" /> + </div> +</form> +<p style="font-size: 95%;"><strong>All comments are moderated</strong>, so you won’t see it right away. 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+
+<break>
+
+<img class="postpic" src="[[base_url]]/2007/marshsunset.jpg" alt="sunset over the marsh" />We decide to go for a walk. The sun feels like a curse that's been hanging over you since birth. Not a cloud in the sky.
+
+And so it goes. Here in Charleston, SC. The rumors are true. I moved back to the south, Athens GA to be exact -- more on that later. But I hate staying in one place for too long, so after a month or two in Athens I headed up to Charleston to visit a friend.
+
+The south is curious place. If you've never been here I couldn't hope to explain it, but it's not so much a place as an approach. A way of getting somewhere more than anywhere specific. Perhaps even a wrong turn.
+
+Here's what we know for sure: Californian is not the south. Texas is also not the south. Charleston throws seersucker suits in the mix, but hey, nothing's perfect.
+
+<img class="postpicright" src="[[base_url]]/2007/dukes.jpg" alt="duke's mayonnaise" />There was a piece in the New York Times a while back that argued that the South begins not at the Mason-Dixon line, as history would have us believe, but where the restaurants switch over to sweetened tea. But most Times writers have never left Manhattan and won't recognize the South even when they're dipped in tar and run out of it. The truth is the South begins and ends wherever you can find Duke's Mayonnaise on the shelves of your local grocer.
+
+There's mayonnaise. And then there's Duke's. Even at the baseball game there's Duke's.
+
+But it was the heat that started it. Thunderstorms and heat.
+
+Apparently the Charleston emergency broadcast system has never heard the story on the boy who cried wolf. Or they just didn't walk away with much. Not only is there not a cloud in the sky, there was a tropical depression big enough to have a name that didn't warrant any alerts when it blew through yesterday.
+
+It seems safe to assume that the local elements of FEMA are run by the same type of highly qualified individuals that staff the higher government offices of this strange, confused land.
+
+I first came to Charleston about a month ago, I've come and gone twice since then. The weather was mild when I first arrived, an onshore breeze to rattle the Palmetto leaves, tufts of cloud hanging over the sea. We lay on our backs floating in the brine and watching the sun arc the sky.
+
+One weekend we wandered the shipping yards ogling the tall ships, a festival of them, blown in on favorable winds you might say. We failed, despite our best efforts, to be shanghaied off into the ocean, pressed into five months before the mast on our way back to Italy.
+
+<img class="postpic" src="[[base_url]]/2007/tallships.jpg" alt="tall ships festival" />A kind of wanderlust seizes me whenever I am near boats -- the world was, after all, discovered by men and women of the sea. And I don't mean those Spaniards with their metal helmets, I mean the much older explorers departing from east on dugout canoes with spears for fishing and courage of a sort that they took with them to their graves. They reached the islands -- Hawaii, Tahiti, Fiji and so many more -- before their European counterparts had even consider the mast, let alone pressed anyone into service before it.
+
+Failing kidnapping, we turned to tequila and night-swimming, always a heady and dangerous mix, but we pulled through in spite of the hiccups.
+
+It took me nine years to get here. I enjoyed them. Every bit of them. Stay tuned. diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/07/index.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/07/index.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6704093 --- /dev/null +++ b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/07/index.html @@ -0,0 +1,104 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> + +<head> + <title>Luxagraf - Topografical Writings: Archive</title> + <meta charset="utf-8"> + <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <meta name="description" + content="Luxagraf: recording journeys around the world and just next door."> + <meta name="author" content="Scott Gilbertson"> + <!--[if IE]> + <script src="/js/html5css3ie.min.js"></script> + <![endif]--> + <link rel="alternate" + type="application/rss+xml" + title="Luxagraf RSS feed" + href="https://luxagraf.net/rss/"> + <link rel="stylesheet" + href="/media/screenv8.css" + media="screen"> + <!--[if IE]> + <link rel="stylesheet" + href="/media/css/ie.css" + media="screen"> + <![endif]--> + <link rel="shortcut icon" href="favicon.ico" type="image/x-icon"> + <link rel="manifest" href="manifest.json"> + <meta property="fb:pages" content="900822029969349" /> + +</head> +<body id="archive"> + <div class="wrapper" id="wrapper"> + <div class="header-wrapper"> + <header role="banner"> + <h1><a id="logo" href="/" title="home">Luxagraf</a></h1> + <h2>Walk Slowly</h2> + </header> + <nav role="navigation" class="bl"> + <ul> + <li id="laverdad"><a href="/jrnl/" title="What we've been up to lately">Journal</a></li> + <!--<li id="nota"><a href="/field-notes/" title="Quick notes and images from the road">Notes</a></li> + <li id="fotos"><a href="/photos/" title="Photos from travels around the world">Photos</a></li>i--> + <li id="maps"><a href="/map" title="Maps">Map</a></li> + <li id="about"><a href="/about" title="About Luxagraf">About</a></li> + <li id="etc" class="last"><a href="/projects/" title="the less visible portions of the iceberg">More</a></li> + </ul> + </nav> + </div> + <ul class="bl" id="breadcrumbs" itemscope itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/Breadcrumb"> + <li><a href="/" title="luxagraf homepage" itemprop="url"><span itemprop="title">Home</span></a> → </li> + <li><a href="/jrnl/" title="See all Journal Entries" itemprop="url"><span itemprop="title">Journal</span></a> →</li> + <li><a href="/jrnl/2007/">2007</a> →</li> + <li>July</li> + </ul> + <main role="main" id="writing-archive" class="archive"> + <h1> Archive: July 2007</h1> + <ul class="date-archive"> + <li class="arc-item"><a href="/jrnl/2007/07/other-ocean" title="On The Other Ocean">On The Other Ocean</a> + <time datetime="2007-07-23T11:24:44-04:00">Jul 23, 2007</time> + </li> + </ul> + + + + <footer role="contentinfo"> + <nav class="bl"> + <ul> + <li><a href="/blogroll" title="Sites that inspire us">Blogroll</a></li> + <li><a href="/jrnl/feed.xml" title="RSS feed">Subscribe</a></li> + <li><a href="/contact/" title="contact luxagraf">Contact</a></li> + <li><a href="https://twitter.com/luxagraf" rel="me" title="follow luxagraf on Twitter">Twitter</a></li> + <li><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/luxagraf" rel="me" title="luxagraf on Flickr">Flickr</a></li> + <li><a href="https://www.facebook.com/luxagraf" rel="me" title="luxagraf on Facebook">Facebook</a></li> + <li><a href="https://www.instagram.com/luxagraf/" rel="me" title="luxagraf on Instacrap">Instacrap</a></li> + </ul> + </nav> + <p id="license"> + © 2003-2018 + <span class="h-card"><a class="p-name u-url" href="https://luxagraf.net/">Scott Gilbertson</a><data class="p-nickname" value="luxagraf"></data><data class="p-locality" value="Athens"></data><data class="p-region" value="Georgia"></data><data class="p-country-name" value="United States"></data></span>, except photos, which are licensed under the Creative Commons (<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/" title="read the Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 deed">details</a>). + </p> + </footer> + </div> + +<!-- Piwik --> +<script type="text/javascript"> +var _paq = _paq || []; 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Imagine how this would complicate seemingly ordinary activities -- like say walking. Now throw in a bouncing motion that lifts the floor five or six feet up and down in a seesaw-like motion on a perpendicular axis to the 30 degree tilt -- if you're lucky, if you're not it's somewhat more like riding a seesaw that's attached to a merry-go-round which is missing a few bolts. Now Imagine it's night and throw in a healthy downpour for good measure -- that's sailing.</p> +<p><break> +<amp-img alt="Clouds, Santa Catalina Island" height="206" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/sailingsky.jpg" width="367"></amp-img>For many this results in vomiting, tears and some cribbed lines about horror from Joseph Conrad's <cite>Heart Of Darkness</cite>. For others though, like for instance, my uncle, this is the sort of thing that brings out the famous Cheshire Cat grin. Some might attribute this to the general belief that if you're a bit unhinged in the first place, then you aren't going to really hit your stride until the world around you starts to come a bit unglued.</break></p> +<p>I'll be the first to admit that I've never really sailed in conditions like that, but I hope to someday and perhaps that makes me unhinged a bit myself.</p> +<p>But let's back up a minute. Make it daylight and get rid of the rain. That's more akin to the conditions on a windy day off the California coastline, which is where I am at the moment. Which is a good thing because my uncle isn't on this boat and while my father is good sailor, I don't know that he would relish the above scenario with the same sort of gusto it holds in abstract for me.</p> +<p>And I'm no ace sailor. I understand the basic mechanisms of a boat -- anyone who's sat on a plane contemplating the wind-induced lift of the wing understands, whether they realize it or not, the basic physics of the modern sail, which is essentially a wing turned on its side. </p> +<p>I can tie knots and I know most the terms the nautical world insists on using like port, starboard, fore, aft, stern, bow, mainsheet, traveler and whatnot.</p> +<p>More important though, I seem to have an instinctive feel for that point of sail which maximizes the available wind (at least that what the more skilled sailors I've been out with tell me, for all I know they're just flattering my ego).</p> +<p><amp-img alt="blue whale" height="188" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/bluewhale.jpg" width="395"></amp-img>However, it's this last tidbit that means I rarely get the wheel on these week-long trips my family has been taking for the last decade or so. I rarely get the wheel because when I do I frequently fall off whatever course we happen to be on in favor of the best wind.</p> +<p>If you're looking to go somewhere specific in a boat, I'm not really your man. If on the other hand you just want to lean the boat over as far as possible and try to exceed the designated hull speed without flipping it, I might be able to help.</p> +<p>Regular readers will know I'm not all that good at reaching specific destinations on land either, I tend to get lured off course by all manner of fascinating distractions. I don't really travel -- despite what it might say at the top of this site, -- I just kind of wander about.</p> +<p>Which is why it's typically my father who gets us from Newport Harbor to Santa Catalina Island -- if, as occasionally happens, we have a favorable wind that coincides with our course, then I sail, but most of the time I lie on deck in the sun contemplating the sea — watching the occasional blue whale meander by.</p> +<p><amp-img alt="twilight at sea" height="402" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/twilightatsea.jpg" width="237"></amp-img>But my favorite time on the water is twilight. It may just be something that happens in California, but twilight on the sea produces a much deeper red, warm light that hangs around for much longer than its land-loving counterpart.</p> +<p>Unless you're trying to get somewhere in a hurry, you're typically either moored or anchored come night and while the sea does calm somewhat, depending on the night you might find yourself bobbing about a good bit. And there is very little I know of that will reinforce your own speck-like insignificance quicker than lying here up the bobbing V-berth staring out the companionway hatch at the mast pitching about the stars.</p> +<p>At the end of the day our tiny cork existences float, bouncing and dancing in an ocean so colossal it's nearly impossible to fathom. </p> +<p>And yet as I lie here with a thousand thought racing through my head, it also seems that our lives contain immense significance as well -- we contain so much within us as to outstrip even the vastness of the universe we inhabit.</p> +<p>The largest thing is contained within the smallest thing as the Tao says, we are tiny corks with giant hopes and dreams. Sometimes they play out as we wish and sometimes they do not. As Kurt Vonnegutt was fond of writing, -- And so it goes.</p> + </div> + </article> +</main> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/07/other-ocean.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/07/other-ocean.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..823db52 --- /dev/null +++ b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/07/other-ocean.html @@ -0,0 +1,344 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html +class="detail single" dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> + +<head> + <title>On The Other Ocean - by Scott Gilbertson</title> + <meta charset="utf-8"> + <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <meta name="description" + content="Sailing from Newport Harbor to Santa Catalina Island. It might not be crossing an ocean, but it's a step in the right direction. 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Imagine how this would complicate seemingly ordinary activities — like say walking. Now throw in a bouncing motion that lifts the floor five or six feet up and down in a seesaw-like motion on a perpendicular axis to the 30 degree tilt — if you’re lucky, if you’re not it’s somewhat more like riding a seesaw that’s attached to a merry-go-round which is missing a few bolts. Now Imagine it’s night and throw in a healthy downpour for good measure — that’s sailing.</p> +<p><break> +<img alt="Clouds, Santa Catalina Island" class="postpic" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/sailingsky.jpg"/>For many this results in vomiting, tears and some cribbed lines about horror from Joseph Conrad’s <cite>Heart Of Darkness</cite>. For others though, like for instance, my uncle, this is the sort of thing that brings out the famous Cheshire Cat grin. Some might attribute this to the general belief that if you’re a bit unhinged in the first place, then you aren’t going to really hit your stride until the world around you starts to come a bit unglued.</p> +<p>I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve never really sailed in conditions like that, but I hope to someday and perhaps that makes me unhinged a bit myself.</p> +<p>But let’s back up a minute. Make it daylight and get rid of the rain. That’s more akin to the conditions on a windy day off the California coastline, which is where I am at the moment. Which is a good thing because my uncle isn’t on this boat and while my father is good sailor, I don’t know that he would relish the above scenario with the same sort of gusto it holds in abstract for me.</p> +<p>And I’m no ace sailor. I understand the basic mechanisms of a boat — anyone who’s sat on a plane contemplating the wind-induced lift of the wing understands, whether they realize it or not, the basic physics of the modern sail, which is essentially a wing turned on its side. </p> +<p>I can tie knots and I know most the terms the nautical world insists on using like port, starboard, fore, aft, stern, bow, mainsheet, traveler and whatnot.</p> +<p>More important though, I seem to have an instinctive feel for that point of sail which maximizes the available wind (at least that what the more skilled sailors I’ve been out with tell me, for all I know they’re just flattering my ego).</p> +<p><img alt="blue whale" class="postpicright" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/bluewhale.jpg" title="Blue Whale off California Coast"/>However, it’s this last tidbit that means I rarely get the wheel on these week-long trips my family has been taking for the last decade or so. I rarely get the wheel because when I do I frequently fall off whatever course we happen to be on in favor of the best wind.</p> +<p>If you’re looking to go somewhere specific in a boat, I’m not really your man. If on the other hand you just want to lean the boat over as far as possible and try to exceed the designated hull speed without flipping it, I might be able to help.</p> +<p>Regular readers will know I’m not all that good at reaching specific destinations on land either, I tend to get lured off course by all manner of fascinating distractions. I don’t really travel — despite what it might say at the top of this site, — I just kind of wander about.</p> +<p>Which is why it’s typically my father who gets us from Newport Harbor to Santa Catalina Island — if, as occasionally happens, we have a favorable wind that coincides with our course, then I sail, but most of the time I lie on deck in the sun contemplating the sea — watching the occasional blue whale meander by.</p> +<p><img alt="twilight at sea" class="postpic" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/twilightatsea.jpg" title="Twilight off Santa Catalina Island"/>But my favorite time on the water is twilight. It may just be something that happens in California, but twilight on the sea produces a much deeper red, warm light that hangs around for much longer than its land-loving counterpart.</p> +<p>Unless you’re trying to get somewhere in a hurry, you’re typically either moored or anchored come night and while the sea does calm somewhat, depending on the night you might find yourself bobbing about a good bit. And there is very little I know of that will reinforce your own speck-like insignificance quicker than lying here up the bobbing V-berth staring out the companionway hatch at the mast pitching about the stars.</p> +<p>At the end of the day our tiny cork existences float, bouncing and dancing in an ocean so colossal it’s nearly impossible to fathom. </p> +<p>And yet as I lie here with a thousand thought racing through my head, it also seems that our lives contain immense significance as well — we contain so much within us as to outstrip even the vastness of the universe we inhabit.</p> +<p>The largest thing is contained within the smallest thing as the Tao says, we are tiny corks with giant hopes and dreams. Sometimes they play out as we wish and sometimes they do not. As Kurt Vonnegutt was fond of writing, — And so it goes.</p> + </div> + + </article> + + + <div class="nav-wrapper"> + <nav id="page-navigation" class="page-border-top"> + <ul> + <li id="prev"><span class="bl">Previous:</span> + <a href="/jrnl/2007/06/being-there" rel="prev" title=" Being There">Being There</a> + </li> + <li id="next"><span class="bl">Next:</span> + <a href="/jrnl/2007/11/fall" rel="next" title=" Fall">Fall</a> + </li> + </ul> + </nav> + </div> + + + + + + +<div class="comment--form--wrapper "> + +<div class="comment--form--header"> + <p class="hed">Thoughts?</p> + <p class="subhed">Please leave a reply:</p> +</div> +<form action="/comments/post/" method="post" class="comment--form"> + +<input type="hidden" name="rder" value="" /> + + + <input type="hidden" name="content_type" value="jrnl.entry" id="id_content_type"> + + + + <input type="hidden" name="object_pk" value="78" id="id_object_pk"> + + + + <input type="hidden" name="timestamp" value="1596833472" id="id_timestamp"> + + + + <input type="hidden" name="security_hash" value="2c03b07f9ba1dd0c01bc6d1605be590b57c4bab6" id="id_security_hash"> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_name">Name:</label> + <input type="text" name="name" maxlength="50" required id="id_name"> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_email">Email address:</label> + <input type="email" name="email" required id="id_email"> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_url">URL:</label> + <input type="url" name="url" id="id_url"> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_comment">Comment:</label> + <div class="textarea-rounded"><textarea name="comment" cols="40" rows="10" maxlength="3000" required id="id_comment"> +</textarea></div> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset style="display:none;"> + <label for="id_honeypot">If you enter anything in this field your comment will be treated as spam:</label> + <input type="text" name="honeypot" id="id_honeypot"> + </fieldset> + + + <div class="submit"> + <input type="submit" name="post" class="submit-post btn" value="Post" /> + <input type="submit" name="preview" class="submit-preview btn" value="Preview" /> + </div> +</form> +<p style="font-size: 95%;"><strong>All comments are moderated</strong>, so you won’t see it right away. And please remember Kurt Vonnegut's rule: “god damn it, you’ve got to be kind.” You can use Markdown or HTML to format your comments. The allowed tags are <code><b>, <i>, <em>, <strong>, <a></code>. 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Imagine how this would complicate seemingly ordinary activities -- like say walking. Now throw in a bouncing motion that lifts the floor five or six feet up and down in a seesaw-like motion on a perpendicular axis to the 30 degree tilt -- if you're lucky, if you're not it's somewhat more like riding a seesaw that's attached to a merry-go-round which is missing a few bolts. Now Imagine it's night and throw in a healthy downpour for good measure -- that's sailing.
+
+<break>
+<img src="[[base_url]]/2007/sailingsky.jpg" class="postpic" alt="Clouds, Santa Catalina Island" />For many this results in vomiting, tears and some cribbed lines about horror from Joseph Conrad's <cite>Heart Of Darkness</cite>. For others though, like for instance, my uncle, this is the sort of thing that brings out the famous Cheshire Cat grin. Some might attribute this to the general belief that if you're a bit unhinged in the first place, then you aren't going to really hit your stride until the world around you starts to come a bit unglued.
+
+I'll be the first to admit that I've never really sailed in conditions like that, but I hope to someday and perhaps that makes me unhinged a bit myself.
+
+But let's back up a minute. Make it daylight and get rid of the rain. That's more akin to the conditions on a windy day off the California coastline, which is where I am at the moment. Which is a good thing because my uncle isn't on this boat and while my father is good sailor, I don't know that he would relish the above scenario with the same sort of gusto it holds in abstract for me.
+
+And I'm no ace sailor. I understand the basic mechanisms of a boat -- anyone who's sat on a plane contemplating the wind-induced lift of the wing understands, whether they realize it or not, the basic physics of the modern sail, which is essentially a wing turned on its side.
+
+I can tie knots and I know most the terms the nautical world insists on using like port, starboard, fore, aft, stern, bow, mainsheet, traveler and whatnot.
+
+More important though, I seem to have an instinctive feel for that point of sail which maximizes the available wind (at least that what the more skilled sailors I've been out with tell me, for all I know they're just flattering my ego).
+
+<img src="[[base_url]]/2007/bluewhale.jpg" class="postpicright" alt="blue whale" title="Blue Whale off California Coast" />However, it's this last tidbit that means I rarely get the wheel on these week-long trips my family has been taking for the last decade or so. I rarely get the wheel because when I do I frequently fall off whatever course we happen to be on in favor of the best wind.
+
+If you're looking to go somewhere specific in a boat, I'm not really your man. If on the other hand you just want to lean the boat over as far as possible and try to exceed the designated hull speed without flipping it, I might be able to help.
+
+Regular readers will know I'm not all that good at reaching specific destinations on land either, I tend to get lured off course by all manner of fascinating distractions. I don't really travel -- despite what it might say at the top of this site, -- I just kind of wander about.
+
+Which is why it's typically my father who gets us from Newport Harbor to Santa Catalina Island -- if, as occasionally happens, we have a favorable wind that coincides with our course, then I sail, but most of the time I lie on deck in the sun contemplating the sea — watching the occasional blue whale meander by.
+
+<img src="[[base_url]]/2007/twilightatsea.jpg" class="postpic" alt="twilight at sea" title="Twilight off Santa Catalina Island" />But my favorite time on the water is twilight. It may just be something that happens in California, but twilight on the sea produces a much deeper red, warm light that hangs around for much longer than its land-loving counterpart.
+
+Unless you're trying to get somewhere in a hurry, you're typically either moored or anchored come night and while the sea does calm somewhat, depending on the night you might find yourself bobbing about a good bit. And there is very little I know of that will reinforce your own speck-like insignificance quicker than lying here up the bobbing V-berth staring out the companionway hatch at the mast pitching about the stars.
+
+At the end of the day our tiny cork existences float, bouncing and dancing in an ocean so colossal it's nearly impossible to fathom.
+
+And yet as I lie here with a thousand thought racing through my head, it also seems that our lives contain immense significance as well -- we contain so much within us as to outstrip even the vastness of the universe we inhabit.
+
+The largest thing is contained within the smallest thing as the Tao says, we are tiny corks with giant hopes and dreams. Sometimes they play out as we wish and sometimes they do not. As Kurt Vonnegutt was fond of writing, -- And so it goes. diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/11/fall.amp b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/11/fall.amp new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8078704 --- /dev/null +++ b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/11/fall.amp @@ -0,0 +1,179 @@ + + +<!doctype html> +<html amp lang="en"> +<head> +<meta charset="utf-8"> +<title>Fall</title> +<link rel="canonical" href="https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2007/11/fall"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width,initial-scale=1,minimum-scale=1"> + <meta name="twitter:card" content="summary_large_image"/> + <meta name="twitter:url" content="/jrnl/2007/11/fall"> + <meta name="twitter:description" content="Fall, Autumn, call it what you like, just remember, the leaves fall for the tree every year, but the tree never falls for the leaves. 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The land is slowly dying, and not just because it's Fall <sup id="fnr1"><small><a href="#fn-1">[1]</a></small></sup>, we're also in the middle of a prolonged drought -- this year being one of the worst -- but this year the leaves are opting for a James Dean-style, leave-a-good-looking-corpse exit. If you're a leaf and you've got to go, do it with class.</p> +<p><break></break></p> +<p><amp-img alt="Fall colors Athens GA" height="139" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/athensfall.jpg" width="325"></amp-img>Out my back door is a spectrum ranging from ochre to vermillion with all the middle hues as well, burnt sienna, tawny cinnamon, sorrel, ginger, puse and more nestled among the staid green of those that refuse to give and the more russet and mahogany tones of indifferent Oak trees. It's the beech and maple that really turn though. Almost makes you think of a certain Rush song, but we won't go there.</p> +<p><amp-img alt="Fall colors Athens GA" height="270" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/athensfall1.jpg" width="186"></amp-img>Perhaps it's a result of growing up in Los Angeles, but Fall never ceases to amaze me and I feel a bit bad for those who don't get to experience it every year. When I worked at the restaurant in Northampton we used to mock the leaf peepers, but we understood why they came.</p> +<p>It's part of the trade off I guess. My Los Angeles friends aren't running their heater and still wearing a sweater. It gets cold here, not as cold as New England, but certainly colder than coastal California. But I'll take the cold in exchange for some tangible markers of the passing seasons, the passing time, lest it simple blur together and slip away invisibly.</p> +<p>Just bear in mind that only part of it is passing. As a friend of mine used to say, the leaves fall for the tree every year, but the tree will never fall for the leaves. </p> +<ol class="footnote"><li><p><a name="fn-1">1.</a> To my English friends who will insist on Autumn. I have it on reasonably good authority that Fall is actually proper Queen's English that fell out of fashion in the UK near the end of the last century. I intend to bring it back because Autumn reminds me of bad paperback romance novels. <a class="footnoteBackLink" href="#fnr1" title="Jump back to footnote 1 in the text.">↩</a></p></li></ol> + </div> + </article> +</main> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/11/fall.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/11/fall.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dd7562d --- /dev/null +++ b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/11/fall.html @@ -0,0 +1,386 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html +class="detail single" dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> + +<head> + <title>Fall - by Scott Gilbertson</title> + <meta charset="utf-8"> + <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <meta name="description" + content="Fall, Autumn, call it what you like, just remember, the leaves fall for the tree every year, but the tree never falls for the leaves. 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By Scott Gilbertson"/> + <meta name="twitter:title" content="Fall"/> + <meta name="twitter:site" content="@luxagraf"/> + <meta name="twitter:domain" content="luxagraf"/> + <meta name="twitter:image:src" content="/media/images/post-images/2008/fall.jpg"/> + <meta name="twitter:creator" content="@luxagraf"/> +<script type="application/ld+json"> +{ + "@context": "https://schema.org", + "@type": "Article", + "mainEntityOfPage": { + "@type": "WebPage", + "@id": "https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2007/11/fall" + }, + "headline": "Fall", + "datePublished": "2007-11-14T02:25:17+04:00", + "dateModified": "2007-11-14T02:25:17+04:00", + "author": { + "@type": "Person", + "name": "Scott Gilbertson" + }, + "publisher": { + "@type": "Organization", + "name": "Luxagraf", + "logo": { + "@type": "ImageObject", + "url": "https://luxagraf.net/media/img/logo-white.jpg" + } + }, + "description": "Fall, Autumn, call it what you like, just remember, the leaves fall for the tree every year, but the tree never falls for the leaves. By Scott Gilbertson" +} +</script> + +</head> +<body > + <div class="wrapper" id="wrapper"> + <div class="header-wrapper"> + <header class="site-banner"> + <div id="logo"> + <a href="/" title="Home">Luxagraf</a> + <span class="sitesubtitle">Walk Slowly</span> + </div> + <nav> + <ul> + <li><a href="/jrnl/" title="Stories of life on the road.">Jrnl</a> & <a href="/field-notes/" title="Short stories, snapshots of daily life on the road.">Field Notes</a></li> + <li><a href="/guide/" title="Advice, Tools, Tips and Tricks for Full Time Van or RV Life.">Guides</a></li> + <li><a href="/newsletter/" title="The 'friends of a long year' newsletter">newsletter</a></li> + <li><a href="/about" title="About Scott">About</a></li> + </ul> + </nav> + </header> + </div> + <ol class="bl" id="breadcrumbs" itemscope itemtype="http://schema.org/BreadcrumbList"> + <li itemprop="itemListElement" itemscope itemtype="http://schema.org/ListItem"><a itemprop="item" href="/"><span itemprop="name">Home</span></a> → + <meta itemprop="position" content="1" /> + </li> + <li itemprop="itemListElement" itemscope itemtype="http://schema.org/ListItem"> + + <a href="/jrnl/" itemprop="item"><span itemprop="name">jrnl</span></a> + <meta itemprop="position" content="2" /> + <meta itemprop="position" content="2" /> + </li> + </ol> + + + <main> + <article class="h-entry hentry entry-content content" itemscope itemType="http://schema.org/BlogPosting"> + <header id="header" class="post-header "> + <h1 class="p-name entry-title post-title" itemprop="headline">Fall</h1> + + <div class="post-linewrapper"> + <div class="p-location h-adr adr post-location" itemprop="contentLocation" itemscope itemtype="http://schema.org/Place"> + <h3 class="h-adr" itemprop="address" itemscope itemtype="http://schema.org/PostalAddress"><span class="p-locality locality" itemprop="addressLocality">Athens</span>, <a class="p-region region" href="/jrnl/united-states/" title="travel writing from the United States">Georgia</a>, <span class="p-country-name" itemprop="addressCountry">U.S.</span></h3> + – <a href="" onclick="showMap(33.944864119478886, -83.3885693434031, { type:'point', lat:'33.944864119478886', lon:'-83.3885693434031'}); return false;" title="see a map">Map</a> + </div> + <time class="dt-published published dt-updated post-date" datetime="2007-11-14T02:25:17" itemprop="datePublished">November <span>14, 2007</span></time> + <span class="hide" itemprop="author" itemscope itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="p-author h-card" href="/about"><span itemprop="name">Scott Gilbertson</span></a></span> + </div> + </header> + <div id="article" class="e-content entry-content post--body post--body--single" itemprop="articleBody"> + <p><span class="drop">T</span>he trees are in full technicolor swing. The land is slowly dying, and not just because it’s Fall <sup id="fnr1"><small><a href="#fn-1">[1]</a></small></sup>, we’re also in the middle of a prolonged drought — this year being one of the worst — but this year the leaves are opting for a James Dean-style, leave-a-good-looking-corpse exit. If you’re a leaf and you’ve got to go, do it with class.</p> +<p><break></p> +<p><img alt="Fall colors Athens GA" class="postpic" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/athensfall.jpg" title="Fall colors Athens GA"/>Out my back door is a spectrum ranging from ochre to vermillion with all the middle hues as well tucked among the staid green of those that refuse to give and the more russet and mahogany tones of indifferent Oak trees. It’s the beech and maple that really turn though. Almost makes you think of a certain Rush song, but we won’t go there.</p> +<p><img alt="Fall colors Athens GA" class="postpicright" src="https://images.luxagraf.net//2007/athensfall1.jpg" title="Fall colors Athens GA"/>Perhaps it’s a result of growing up in Los Angeles, but Fall never ceases to amaze me and I feel a bit bad for those who don’t get to experience it every year. When I worked at the restaurant in Northampton we used to mock the leaf peepers, but we understood why they came.</p> +<p>It’s part of the trade off I guess. My Los Angeles friends aren’t running their heater and still wearing a sweater. It gets cold here, not as cold as New England, but certainly colder than coastal California. But I’ll take the cold in exchange for some tangible markers of the passing seasons, the passing time, lest it simple blur together and slip away invisibly.</p> +<p>Just bear in mind that only part of it is passing. As a friend of mine used to say, the leaves fall for the tree every year, but the tree will never fall for the leaves. </p> +<ol class="footnote"><li><p><a name="fn-1">1.</a> To my English friends who will insist on Autumn. I have it on reasonably good authority that Fall is actually proper Queen’s English that fell out of fashion in the UK near the end of the last century. I intend to bring it back because Autumn reminds me of bad paperback romance novels. <a href="#fnr1" class="footnoteBackLink" title="Jump back to footnote 1 in the text.">↩</a></p></li></ol> + </div> + <div class="entry-footer"> + <aside id="wildlife"> + <h3>Fauna and Flora</h3> + + <ul> + + <li class="grouper">Birds<ul> + + <li>American Robin </li> + + <li>Blue Jay </li> + + <li>Brown-headed Cowbird </li> + + <li><a href="/dialogues/brown-thrasher">Brown Thrasher</a> </li> + + <li>Canada Goose </li> + + <li>Carolina Chickadee </li> + + <li>Chipping Sparrow </li> + + <li>Downy Woodpecker </li> + + <li>Eastern Bluebird </li> + + <li>Eastern Towhee </li> + + <li>Gray Catbird </li> + + <li>Great Blue Heron </li> + + <li>Hooded Warbler </li> + + <li><a href="/dialogues/northern-cardinal">Northern Cardinal</a> </li> + + <li><a href="/dialogues/northern-mockingbird">Northern Mockingbird</a> </li> + + <li>Red-bellied Woodpecker </li> + + <li><a href="/dialogues/summer-tanager">Summer Tanager</a> </li> + + <li>Tufted Titmouse </li> + + <li>Wood Duck </li> + + <li>Yellow-rumped Warbler </li> + </ul> + </ul> + </aside> + + + </div> + </article> + + + <div class="nav-wrapper"> + <nav id="page-navigation" > + <ul> + <li id="prev"><span class="bl">Previous:</span> + <a href="/jrnl/2007/07/other-ocean" rel="prev" title=" On The Other Ocean">On The Other Ocean</a> + </li> + <li id="next"><span class="bl">Next:</span> + <a href="/jrnl/2008/03/ring-bells" rel="next" title=" Ring The Bells">Ring The Bells</a> + </li> + </ul> + </nav> + </div> + + + + + + +<div class="comment--form--wrapper "> + +<div class="comment--form--header"> + <p class="hed">Thoughts?</p> + <p class="subhed">Please leave a reply:</p> +</div> +<form action="/comments/post/" method="post" class="comment--form"> + +<input type="hidden" name="rder" value="" /> + + + <input type="hidden" name="content_type" value="jrnl.entry" id="id_content_type"> + + + + <input type="hidden" name="object_pk" value="79" id="id_object_pk"> + + + + <input type="hidden" name="timestamp" value="1596833471" id="id_timestamp"> + + + + <input type="hidden" name="security_hash" value="8a92d40a95ce5712e14c95b62f3e619abc2fdfe3" id="id_security_hash"> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_name">Name:</label> + <input type="text" name="name" maxlength="50" required id="id_name"> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_email">Email address:</label> + <input type="email" name="email" required id="id_email"> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_url">URL:</label> + <input type="url" name="url" id="id_url"> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset > + <label for="id_comment">Comment:</label> + <div class="textarea-rounded"><textarea name="comment" cols="40" rows="10" maxlength="3000" required id="id_comment"> +</textarea></div> + </fieldset> + + + + <fieldset style="display:none;"> + <label for="id_honeypot">If you enter anything in this field your comment will be treated as spam:</label> + <input type="text" name="honeypot" id="id_honeypot"> + </fieldset> + + + <div class="submit"> + <input type="submit" name="post" class="submit-post btn" value="Post" /> + <input type="submit" name="preview" class="submit-preview btn" value="Preview" /> + </div> +</form> +<p style="font-size: 95%;"><strong>All comments are moderated</strong>, so you won’t see it right away. 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The land is slowly dying, and not just because it's Fall <sup id="fnr1"><small><a href="#fn-1">[1]</a></small></sup>, we're also in the middle of a prolonged drought -- this year being one of the worst -- but this year the leaves are opting for a James Dean-style, leave-a-good-looking-corpse exit. If you're a leaf and you've got to go, do it with class.
+
+<break>
+
+<img class="postpic" src="[[base_url]]/2007/athensfall.jpg" title="Fall colors Athens GA" alt="Fall colors Athens GA" />Out my back door is a spectrum ranging from ochre to vermillion with all the middle hues as well tucked among the staid green of those that refuse to give and the more russet and mahogany tones of indifferent Oak trees. It's the beech and maple that really turn though. Almost makes you think of a certain Rush song, but we won't go there.
+
+<img class="postpicright" src="[[base_url]]/2007/athensfall1.jpg" title="Fall colors Athens GA" alt="Fall colors Athens GA"/>Perhaps it's a result of growing up in Los Angeles, but Fall never ceases to amaze me and I feel a bit bad for those who don't get to experience it every year. When I worked at the restaurant in Northampton we used to mock the leaf peepers, but we understood why they came.
+
+It's part of the trade off I guess. My Los Angeles friends aren't running their heater and still wearing a sweater. It gets cold here, not as cold as New England, but certainly colder than coastal California. But I'll take the cold in exchange for some tangible markers of the passing seasons, the passing time, lest it simple blur together and slip away invisibly.
+
+Just bear in mind that only part of it is passing. As a friend of mine used to say, the leaves fall for the tree every year, but the tree will never fall for the leaves.
+
+<ol class="footnote"><li><p><a name="fn-1">1.</a> To my English friends who will insist on Autumn. I have it on reasonably good authority that Fall is actually proper Queen's English that fell out of fashion in the UK near the end of the last century. I intend to bring it back because Autumn reminds me of bad paperback romance novels. <a href="#fnr1" class="footnoteBackLink" title="Jump back to footnote 1 in the text.">↩</a></p></li></ol> diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/11/index.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/11/index.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fd08030 --- /dev/null +++ b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/11/index.html @@ -0,0 +1,104 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> + +<head> + <title>Luxagraf - Topografical Writings: Archive</title> + <meta charset="utf-8"> + <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <meta name="description" + content="Luxagraf: recording journeys around the world and just next door."> + <meta name="author" content="Scott Gilbertson"> + <!--[if IE]> + <script src="/js/html5css3ie.min.js"></script> + <![endif]--> + <link rel="alternate" + type="application/rss+xml" + title="Luxagraf RSS 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+ <li id="about"><a href="/about" title="About Luxagraf">About</a></li> + <li id="etc" class="last"><a href="/projects/" title="the less visible portions of the iceberg">More</a></li> + </ul> + </nav> + </div> + <ul class="bl" id="breadcrumbs" itemscope itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/Breadcrumb"> + <li><a href="/" title="luxagraf homepage" itemprop="url"><span itemprop="title">Home</span></a> → </li> + <li><a href="/jrnl/" title="See all Journal Entries" itemprop="url"><span itemprop="title">Journal</span></a> →</li> + <li><a href="/jrnl/2007/">2007</a> →</li> + <li>November</li> + </ul> + <main role="main" id="writing-archive" class="archive"> + <h1> Archive: November 2007</h1> + <ul class="date-archive"> + <li class="arc-item"><a href="/jrnl/2007/11/fall" title="Fall">Fall</a> + <time datetime="2007-11-14T02:25:17-05:00">Nov 14, 2007</time> + </li> + </ul> + + + + <footer role="contentinfo"> + <nav class="bl"> + <ul> + <li><a href="/blogroll" title="Sites that inspire 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b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2007/index.html @@ -0,0 +1,152 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html dir="ltr" lang="en-US"> + +<head> + <title>Luxagraf - Topografical Writings: Archive</title> + <meta charset="utf-8"> + <meta http-equiv="x-ua-compatible" content="ie=edge"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <meta name="description" + content="Luxagraf: recording journeys around the world and just next door."> + <meta name="author" content="Scott Gilbertson"> + <!--[if IE]> + <script src="/js/html5css3ie.min.js"></script> + <![endif]--> + <link rel="alternate" + type="application/rss+xml" + title="Luxagraf RSS feed" + href="https://luxagraf.net/rss/"> + <link rel="stylesheet" + href="/media/screenv8.css" + media="screen"> + <!--[if IE]> + <link rel="stylesheet" + href="/media/css/ie.css" + media="screen"> + <![endif]--> + <link rel="shortcut icon" href="favicon.ico" type="image/x-icon"> + <link rel="manifest" href="manifest.json"> + <meta property="fb:pages" content="900822029969349" /> + +</head> +<body id="archive"> + <div class="wrapper" id="wrapper"> + <div class="header-wrapper"> + <header role="banner"> + <h1><a id="logo" href="/" title="home">Luxagraf</a></h1> + <h2>Walk Slowly</h2> + </header> + <nav role="navigation" class="bl"> + <ul> + <li id="laverdad"><a href="/jrnl/" title="What we've been up to lately">Journal</a></li> + <!--<li id="nota"><a href="/field-notes/" title="Quick notes and images from the road">Notes</a></li> + <li id="fotos"><a href="/photos/" title="Photos from travels around the world">Photos</a></li>i--> + <li id="maps"><a href="/map" title="Maps">Map</a></li> + <li id="about"><a href="/about" title="About Luxagraf">About</a></li> + <li id="etc" class="last"><a href="/projects/" title="the less visible portions of the iceberg">More</a></li> + </ul> + </nav> + </div> + <ul class="bl" id="breadcrumbs" itemscope itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/Breadcrumb"> + <li><a href="/" title="luxagraf homepage" itemprop="url"><span itemprop="title">Home</span></a> → </li> + <li><a href="/jrnl/" title="See all Journal Entries" itemprop="url"><span itemprop="title">Journal</span></a> →</li> + <li>2007</li> + + </ul> + <main role="main" id="writing-archive" class="archive"> + <h1>2007, on luxagraf</h1> + <ul class="date-archive"> + <li class="dater"><span>January 2007</span> + <ul> + <li class="arc-item"> + <a href="/jrnl/2007/01/sun-came-no-conclusions" title="The Sun Came Up With No Conclusions">The Sun Came Up With No Conclusions</a> + <time datetime="2007-01-11T18:11:30-05:00">Jan 11, 2007</time> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li class="dater"><span>February 2007</span> + <ul> + <li class="arc-item"> + <a href="/jrnl/2007/02/everything-all-time" title="Everything All The Time">Everything All The Time</a> + <time datetime="2007-02-03T11:14:13-05:00">Feb 03, 2007</time> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li class="dater"><span>March 2007</span> + <ul> + <li class="arc-item"> + <a href="/jrnl/2007/03/goodbye-mother-and-cove" title="Goodbye to the Mother and the Cove">Goodbye to the Mother and the Cove</a> + <time datetime="2007-03-01T11:15:10-05:00">Mar 01, 2007</time> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li class="dater"><span>June 2007</span> + <ul> + <li class="arc-item"> + <a href="/jrnl/2007/06/being-there" title="Being There">Being There</a> + <time datetime="2007-06-17T02:18:54-04:00">Jun 17, 2007</time> + </li> + <li class="arc-item"> + <a href="/jrnl/2007/06/sailing-through" title="Sailing Through">Sailing Through</a> + <time datetime="2007-06-15T00:15:43-04:00">Jun 15, 2007</time> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li class="dater"><span>July 2007</span> + <ul> + <li class="arc-item"> + <a href="/jrnl/2007/07/other-ocean" title="On The Other Ocean">On The Other Ocean</a> + <time datetime="2007-07-23T11:24:44-04:00">Jul 23, 2007</time> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li class="dater"><span>November 2007</span> + <ul> + <li class="arc-item"> + <a href="/jrnl/2007/11/fall" title="Fall">Fall</a> + <time datetime="2007-11-14T02:25:17-05:00">Nov 14, 2007</time> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + + + <footer role="contentinfo"> + <nav class="bl"> + <ul> + <li><a href="/blogroll" title="Sites that inspire us">Blogroll</a></li> + <li><a href="/jrnl/feed.xml" title="RSS feed">Subscribe</a></li> + <li><a href="/contact/" title="contact luxagraf">Contact</a></li> + <li><a href="https://twitter.com/luxagraf" rel="me" title="follow luxagraf on Twitter">Twitter</a></li> + <li><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/luxagraf" rel="me" title="luxagraf on Flickr">Flickr</a></li> + <li><a href="https://www.facebook.com/luxagraf" rel="me" title="luxagraf on Facebook">Facebook</a></li> + <li><a href="https://www.instagram.com/luxagraf/" rel="me" title="luxagraf on Instacrap">Instacrap</a></li> + </ul> + </nav> + <p id="license"> + © 2003-2018 + <span class="h-card"><a class="p-name u-url" href="https://luxagraf.net/">Scott Gilbertson</a><data class="p-nickname" 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