Gays Mills, Wisconsin.

Seen — through the fisheye lens — from the overlook as you drive into town from the east on Route 171:


(Enlarge to see the town.)

There is a historical marker right there telling you about the establishment of the apple orchards in this valley alongside the Kickapoo River. The landscape is so dramatic because it's driftless — the glaciers didn't make it this far. I drove all the way out here today because the cabbie who picked me up at the airport on Thursday told me that the apple trees will be in bloom along Route 171, and it's a great drive. (We'd been talking about flowering trees in Madison.) Go out past Gotham and Boaz to Gays Mills. He was right about the trees and the drive. There were great curvy roads for my Audi TT Coupe to get some exercise after all these long months sitting in my driveway when I was living in New York. There were almost no other cars out on Route 171 — mostly motorcycles. You could tell that everyone driving there was driving to drive. Propitiously, the radio played "Radar Love."

And here are the mills:



I was out traipsing about on the bank of the Kickapoo, trying to get a good shot of the water rolling over the dam. Took a picture of this sign that I didn't bother to read.



Because these things can't apply to me. I'm lucky. A cabdriver tells me about where to find flowers. And — also last Thursday — as I hoisted my two big bags off the luggage carousel at the airport, I was talking to a nun and, when I turned to leave, she said, "God bless you." I was reentering Wisconsin, and everything seemed propitious.

DouChé.

DouChé.

Sooo.... they're like hippies? Right?

Only more annoying?

Teddy Kennedy is rushed to the hospital...

... with symptoms of a stroke.

We pause 10 seconds before adding: What effect will this have on the presidential election?

Huckabee...

... idiot.

You know, there is a big problem with believing you're a comedian.

Last picture in Brooklyn. First picture in Madison.

Weasels!



Kitty cat!



The kitty looks a little evil. Is that a handlebar mustache? Why am I saying "kitty cat"? The barista gave me a choice of images for my latte foam — fern, orchid, heart, etc. — and I picked "kitty cat." He conceded he wasn't that good at achieving the difficult kitty cat. By the way, latte art is a big deal. Here's a better effort at kitty cat. I'll try to give my Madison guy more practice.

Deep Doudou.

Doudou Diene is the human rights investigator sent to the United States by the U.N. to "gather first-hand information on issues related to racism, racial discrimination, xenophobia and related intolerance." He'll be here for 3 weeks to get this "first-hand information." I don't know. How would you spend 3 weeks trying to get first-hand information in a country of 300 million?

Giambi's panties.

A gold lamé thong with a flame-line waistband.

"I had it over my shorts and stuff," [Derek Jeter] said. "I was 0-for-32 and I hit a homer on the first pitch. That's the only time I've ever worn it."

Johnny Damon also admitted donning the golden panties "probably three times."...

What is the secret of Giambi's golden thong?

"You're not worrying about your hands or your balance at the plate," Damon said. "You're worried about the uncomfortable feeling you're receiving."

Uncomfortable... because it's a thong or because you know it's gold lamé thong with a "flame-line" (whatever that is)?

Catcher Jorge Posada [said] that "a lot of players have worn it," but he didn't name names. Asked if the thong got washed between wearings, he gave a cringe-worthy answer. "Ask Jason," said Posada. "Jason is a little strange."

If the point is to make you uncomfortable, you shouldn't wash it.

ADDED: I fixed what was a misattribution of the first quote to Jason Giambi. Sorry.

Blogging the past... 1994... 1918...

In my Time the Blog Forgot blog, the year that came up in my random number generator today is 1994, which seems like only yesterday to someone my age, but was (obviously) 14 years ago. I've got 2 posts about 2 things that were new:

Apple's new touchpad

Bill Clinton's new Supreme Court nominee Stephen G. Breyer

Meanwhile, The West Virginia Rebel, noticing me, takes up the practice of history blogging, looking a whole year and plucking a very juicy year: 1918.

(Also, I would love it if someone could help me fix a glitch in the template over there that single-spaces block-and-indent text and then keeps the single-spacing for unindented text that follows.)

Robin Givhan on Cindy McCain and Michelle Obama in Vogue.

Vogue transforms:

If there is one word the picture seems to be aggressively striving to evoke, it would be "relaxed." McCain's studied repose is in direct contrast to the image she projects in campaign photographs in which she is pressed, polished and so stiffly poised that she often looks like a wax replica of a political spouse. There's nothing especially natural or nonchalant about her Vogue portrait. One can almost see the fingerprints of the assistant who adjusted her hands just so and one wonders how long she had to hold her head at what looks to be an uncomfortable angle. But the implied message is unmistakable: I am not a Stepford wife.

It's just more Stepfordish — isn't it? — to annihilate traces of Stepfordishness.

By contrast:

[Michelle] Obama's photos seemed crafted specifically to help the viewer imagine her in the role of first lady. She is a study in little black dresses, conservative pearls, preppy hair and restraint. Again, the implied message is unmistakable: I am neither subversive nor threatening. I am not some scary "other." I am Camelot with a tan.

Camelot with a tan.

Meanwhile, neither Bill nor Hillary Clinton has submitted to the transformative powers of Vogue. Would it help, and would it help more for Bill or for Hillary to do the posing? Hillary's hair, makeup, and fashion are fiercely controlled by someone (presumably, some team of experts), so it's no surprise she did not allow it. And tousling Bill up is too apt to be taken the wrong way. It's best that the Clintons remain unVogued — though, with hindsight, everything they did seems ill-fated. If only Hilary's hair had blown free while she lounged on a rock by the ocean. If only she'd — just once! — worn a dress — a diaphanous gown...

"Justice Scalia: Ruth Ginsburg Is My Best Friend."

You got my attention, but, snappy headline writer, that's not supported by the text:

"I consider myself a good friend of every one of my colleagues, both past and present. Some more than others. My best friend on the Court is and has been for many years, Ruth Ginsburg. Her basic approach is not mine, but she’s a lovely person and a good loyal friend."

Does he have no good friends off the Court?

CLARIFICATION: My question there is intended only as a criticism of the headline writer, not as a suggestion that Scalia has no good friends off the Court. I'm assuming he does, and the headline writer is assuming he doesn't.

A question for bloggers: What other blogger are you most jealous of?

I'm not answering my own question though... because I'm too jealous! It's enough that I'm admitting it here and acknowledging it. And what is it that makes you jealous of another blogger — or another writer if you are a writer or another artist/musician if you are an artist/musician? It's only partly the success and admiration that other person has won. It's also that you know the other person's work is good, and it's good in a way that makes you feel that it was the sort of thing you could have done or almost did. You realize that feeling is delusional — which becomes crushingly obvious when you notice you think you deserve credit for the way you could have thought of it too and done it.

Dog...

... in dappled sunlight.

"I can't stand being around negative people."

A bit self-contradictory, no? Anyway, Rush Limbaugh said that yesterday in the course of a 454-word rant in which he said the word "screw" or "screwed" 12 times.

"I remember when I used to play shoot 'em up, shoot 'em up, bang, bang, baby."

Just a song I heard a few minutes ago on the 60s channel:



The group is pretty obscure: The Intruders.

Teach your children about the house hippo.

Nicely done. Shown only in Canada.