1846 messages in -21 discussions
Latest 6:45 PM by Paul (SNOTZALOT)
Latest 3:33 PM by gunter
Latest Feb-1 by greenie225
Latest Jan-27 by gunter
Latest Jan-26 by bshmr
3 messages in 3 discussions
Latest Nov-30 by gunter
Latest 3/16/22 by gunter
Latest 3/16/22 by gunter
3787 messages in 558 discussions
32298 messages in 4750 discussions
3938 messages in 335 discussions
Up that endless escalator and into the Starwars hangar one more time, to see The Last Buffalo, which turns out to be more art than the nature recording of Into The Deep. We adjust our headsets and transport to the land of the buffalo. Blowing sand reveals and covers a buffalo skull. There's a mysterious huge shed with ancient machinery, pulleys, fire, molten metal flows into my lap, a smith hammers steel in a fireworks of sparks showering over us. Slowly we come to realize he is a sculptor, forging metal into a buffalo, piece by piece. We watch a buffalo birth, a chase where the mother puts a mountain lion to flight, a dragon fly darts across water and fire consumes a forest. Birth, life, death. At the end, all creatures have turned into metal sculptures in the shed.
Holodecks can't be far off. Half way through the short show, I notice that the people sitting in front of me are actually swallowed by a 3d extension of the mountains which know no screen. There is no screen. I look down to see the row in front of me disappearing into a lake. It's a surreal Magritte image. The lion jumps over the head of a noticeably tall man two rows below. I can feel us becoming part of the action.
This time I pick a particularly healthy looking buffalo and make my sign on his right hoof with the laser pointer. We decide to eat at the American-Indian restaurant up Columbus Avenue. Buffalo burgers. I hear burgers are the only recommended way to eat them since the meat is said to be a bit dry. The waiter brings the the right hoof to show me my sign. I nod.
Nothing like hunting for one's meal.
Just dropping into your forum...
I love your descriptive writing here. Your prose is lovely. :3
Your cat's tail looks like my cat's tail...
Can't resist a couple more cat pix.
Look what they did to me!
Aww, baby got spayed. Good for you -- no kittens!!
An oldie, but a goodie. These two were so in love. I still miss them. My gentle giant and his kitten.
It's always so touching to see cats and dogs lovingeach other. There is a lesson there somewhere.
I'm still agog at Martha Steward's dogs [allegedly] killing that stunning cat they've been living with for many years. How could that have happen?
Somehow, I don't quite believe her story. I don't know. Not meaning to be biased against certain dog breeds, but chows are kinda mean. I don't know. I think they were not supervised.
I don't let my cats outside because I don't want them to kill my birds.
I have no words...
It was a most gorgeous day here in the City, not a cloud in sight but windy, which made it a bit difficult on the way back home from my morning skate. Amazing the effect wind has ... going I was as fleet as the ... mmm, whatever; coming back with the wind in my face was an exercise in physics; I really had to push. I'm a little sore, actually.
Went antiquing right after which may have helped getting me worn down. Antiquing is very tiring. One has to look at so many things. Headed uptown to the Flower District where parking lots turn into flea markets on weekends. Broadway above 23rd was closed on account of the Pakistani Parade. Sikhs everywhere (if I got the tribes right.) Didn't feel like waiting for the parade and went to look at chalkware and cookie jars and actually found a few I would have bought if I were buying.
By the time I had enough antiquing the parade was over, stranding a float at the curb outside the Antiques Garage, tiers of benches occupied by a synod of Sikh elders, waves of pink turbans and flowing robes, and mustaches. The mustaches were not pink, but each one seems bigger than the others. What a sight.
I head south, dodging a big, black, mean dude striding through the crowds, rapping with his earphones blasting. I move on. The rap fades into Pakistani music coming from somewhere ... no. it's Indian ... no ... it's bagpipes! I kid thee not. There's a Scottish bagpiper in front of some bar, rousing the crowd with a rendition of Coming Through the Rye.
I'm plumb tuckered out. Think I'll go home and take a nap, and see if I can get me up for Saturday night.
I love this town.