Alarming News: I like Morgan Freeberg. A lot.
American Digest: And I like this from "The Blog That Nobody Reads", because it is -- mostly -- about me. What can I say? I'm on an ego trip today. It won't last.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: We were following a trackback and thinking "hmmm... this is a bloody excellent post!", and then we realized that it was just part III of, well, three...Damn. I wish I'd written those.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: ...I just remembered that I found a new blog a short while ago, House of Eratosthenes, that I really like. I like his common sense approach and his curiosity when it comes to why people believe what they believe rather than just what they believe.
Brutally Honest: Morgan Freeberg is brilliant.
Dr. Melissa Clouthier: Morgan Freeberg at House of Eratosthenes (pftthats a mouthful) honors big boned women in skimpy clothing. The picture there is priceless--keep scrolling down.
Exile in Portales: Via Gerard: Morgan Freeberg, a guy with a lot to say. And he speaks The Truth...and it's fascinating stuff. Worth a read, or three. Or six.
Just Muttering: Two nice pieces at House of Eratosthenes, one about a perhaps unintended effect of the Enron mess, and one on the Gore-y environ-movie.
Mein Blogovault: Make "the Blog that No One Reads" one of your daily reads.
The Virginian: I know this post will offend some people, but the author makes some good points.
Poetic Justice: Cletus! Ah gots a laiv one fer yew...
The Best Sentence I’ve Read Lately Award today goes to Vexorg, a commenter on Gerard Van der Leun’s website, American Digest. Thanks to blogger friend Buck, we found out about Gerard’s romp through our old stomping grounds of Seattle, where he was able to capture an impressive photo album of the hippie exhibit Hempfest 2007 shindig.
Guitars, old moldy clothes, moccasins, knit caps, tattoos, metal piercings, more metal piercings, and more metal piercings. Old glory days, old Woodstock veterans, and newer enthusiasts trying to repeat an exercise that predated them.
It’s the “sweet sixteen” Hempfest down by the sound in ye olde Seattle. Yes, sixteen years of celebrating reduced cerebration busts loose in Myrtle Edwards Park; a slim strip of grass, driftwood, and a breakwater bracketed by genetic research institutes and the world’s worst modern sculpture park.
It’s a strange celebration and not only because the thousands attending are strange by birth, design and recent inhalation, but because the drug it celebrates is officially not in attendance. It’s like an Oktoberfest without the beer.
:
…to judge by the furtive deals going on down by the breakwater, the “Drug Free” zone is an illusion. The drugs here are anything but free. Ditto the burritos, bongs, and hemp brownies. Other than that, the crowd — running to type and overwhelming predictability — underscores the last line. No matter what else may be going on, This is not a free zone. It’s a zone bounded by ritual and tedium.I no longer remember, if I ever did, exactly what we had in mind at the San Francisco Acid Tests or the Human Be-In, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t anything as obvious as all this. We were, I believe, trying to “change the world,” not sell it a hemp t-shirt.
:
The other theme that knits this bizarre replication of the middle ages together is the overwhelming presence of “artisan handcrafts” in the form of the hand-blown glass bong. Somewhere, probably in an obscure province of China, whole villages are dedicated to blowing molten glass and shaping them into these items. And all along the waterfront here today endless vendors are displaying them in all shapes and sizes.Now you might think that everyone attending Hempfest already has their own personal bong, but evidently that’s not the case. There’s a brisk business going on. There’s also a lot of testing of the new bongs on the side as the local police wisely decide to wander only intermittently through the crowd.
And on the seventh comment, along comes our champion with a one-liner that easily snags the Best Sentence award.
This is the type of religion you end up with when you think you don’t have one.
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Thanks for the link, Morgan. I didn’t go back to Gerard’s post for a verbatim quote, but his line “one of hundreds of butt-flowers observed to bloom” (or something like that…) would have gotten my vote for “Best Sentence.” 😉
- Buck | 08/21/2007 @ 09:49Buck,
I join red-blooded men everywhere in being a little slow to show any outright disdain for the ladies. Prairie-skirt peace-sign-belly girl is one of my favorites, and butt-flower-lady is even better. I think the zoom is cranked a little high on that shot, I’d like to see a little bit more of her.
That is two pictures out of many. All others — let’s just say in many ways, it’s the Seattle I remember.
Gerard has a way with the vocabulary, doesn’t he. Every work of his is virtually peppered with candidates for Best Sentence. In this one, one of my favorite honorable-mentions was the tidbit about Oktoberfest without the beer.
- mkfreeberg | 08/21/2007 @ 09:57Hey, thanks for the collage!
If you want a slightly larger view of buttflower girl, I’ve got it but it is not *that* much larger. At least not as large as it was in real life. Large, but acceptable.
Of course, when ever I see a butt flower my demented mind always wonders, “That blossom there. Ok. But where is the stem and where the root?”
- vanderleun | 08/21/2007 @ 14:39And yet another “best sentence…” 😉
“Of course, when ever I see a butt flower my demented mind always wonders, ‘That blossom there. Ok. But where is the stem and where the root?'”
- Buck | 08/22/2007 @ 12:40