The Real Effect

Well, one of my nicknames and the namesake of this blog really belongs more properly to another Das brother, namely Adrian Clair Das, shortened to Adi, lengthened to Adidas, which, of course, is the company named after one Adolf “Adi” Dassler, whose brother, Rudolf, quarrelled with him so severely that he set up the rival shoe company Puma in the very same town, a town which, until very recently, had a feuding vibe much like Verona or Sicily. An amazing story. But, I digress.
At any rate, Adi or Pastor Adrian or Reverend Das, in addition to excellent sermonizing and sensitive counseling also has knack with the watercolors. Now, he may be a little annoyed that I have chosen to post what in essence is a practice piece in which he was practicing using salt to make those delicate little snowflakes, and yet this is a piece which I loved and begged him to give to me, and which now hangs in my room. Nor, did I have the time to take the best photo of it, but I think I worked the dials on my editing program enough to do it justice.
I like the painting so much because even in its rough unfinished form it captures a type of day I love. So, here without further ado is the painting. The second version, serendipitously, is what happened when I tried the auto correct feature on this work. It looked so much like a glowing, dream-like night version of the same scene, that I thought I would post it as well.
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Let the Tackiness (And Functionality) Begin

I ordered a discount bike rack for each of the bikes I am riding just now and some bungee cords and a mirror. Now I am looking for some classic, old school milk crates (I am taking donations, preferably vintage cool looking ones) so my bikes can look like this and this.
Ah, all of this enthusiasm might remind some of you blog old-timers of the short lived life and demise of my blog “The Fat Cyclist.” I hope this to be a more measured, if crazy, approach to bicycle commuting and fitness. So, feel free to ask, “Hey, Neil, how’s the commuting going.”

Let the Tackiness (And Functionality) Begin

I ordered a discount bike rack for each of the bikes I am riding just now and some bungee cords and a mirror. Now I am looking for some classic, old school milk crates (I am taking donations, preferably vintage cool looking ones) so my bikes can look like this and this.
Ah, all of this enthusiasm might remind some of you blog old-timers of the short lived life and demise of my blog “The Fat Cyclist.” I hope this to be a more measured, if crazy, approach to bicycle commuting and fitness. So, feel free to ask, “Hey, Neil, how’s the commuting going.”

Murree Monsoon

This poem still needs work. I like some of the images in it that I did not expect. There are some things I would have liked to put in that did not get in (perhaps a sonnet cycle is in order). I like the mouse image, but it probably does not work with all the other wet or watery images (but I needed the rhyme).
Critique as you like. I can take it.
Murree Monsoon
That gentle chill that seeped into our house
From grey clouds that rolled, wet, down verdant hills
Is steeping still. A feeling like a mouse
Which ventures out only when all is still
And nibbles memory. The kettle’s on
And, soon, sweet tea, like that which warmed us there
Will chill and warm again, and bring days gone
Rolling gently back, to hang in the air,
Condense and drip, drip, drip down to a floor
Of wet dark earth and brown, bent and pungent
Needles, whose broken scent now pierces more
Than then. I wonder where those feelings went
Which come back now and roar through mental tracts
Like those glorious muddy cataracts..

Mulberries in the City

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Last night my sister-in-law called and said that Virgil was worried that the fact that he had written a rare comment on the Tim Russert post might have broken my blog 🙂 No, I loved that comment and have just been…well, I am not sure why I have not posted much recently. I tried the other day, but the new format was giving me a few quirks that I did not have the patience to figure out.
The picture above (make sure you enlarge it) was from a morning I spent taking pictures at a job training program that my church runs in the summer. There was a mulberry tree in the back yard of one of the houses being worked upon and some kids and myself were enjoying the simple pleasure of plucking mulberries from the tree and eating them. The comments this elicited were interesting, including, “Man, I don’t eat any type of fruit unless it comes from Schnucks.” This is a bit of a sad commentary and shows how far we are disconnected from the sources of and even simply the knowledge of the sources of our food. And I do not believe that it was simply because these were city kids that they said this, as this sentiment is rampant. Sadly, we settle for anemic, though visually perfect, versions of fruits and vegetables, and generally I am little different in settling for this.
One might quibble that we should have washed it before eating. But I say “washed, shmawshed” (even though it would have been nice to at least wash away the pollution). That would have, though, diminished the feeling I had of joining in the party with Susan and Lucy and Aslan and Bacchus and his Maenads, described so beautifully in Prince Caspian..
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TJR

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This report by Tom Brokaw brings sad news. I am surprised by how much I am touched by Tim Russert’s death. I don’t know, he seemed like a good journalist, who sometimes grilled people hard, but was fair. He has a nice smile as well. Make sure to check out some of the other stories after this one, particularly the one where he talks about his son. The interviews with Cokie Roberts and James Carville are good too. Evidently he was a devout Catholic, which makes me happy too.

Talayna’s Pizzeria and Chicago Deep Dish, Mmm, Mmm!

The other day I went to Talayna’s for the second time, this time with my father. While deciding what we were wanting to have, the owner, Mike, came over and brought us samples of the house salad (rich, but very tasty) and both New York and St. Louis style pizzas. Both were good, but I easily liked the Chicago style we ordered the best, with its thick crust, cheese and meat on the bottom, with thick slab sausage with anise, and the tomatoes on top.
I like the food at Talayna’s and the decor, with its oversized, framed posters of Italian scenes and stained glass and statuary. However, I like the fact that both the wait staff and servers and the clientele are diverse, with a mix of African Americans and white Americans. Now you may be thinking, oh how PC of you, Neil. And yet I am often dismayed that at some restaurants all or most of the servers are white and the kitchen staff black, with a largely white clientele, or the entire staff and most of clientele are white (I love me some Ted Drewes, but the place is as white as its custard). And every time I go to the stadium I have not seen one groundsperson of color in the high profile crew that comes out to grade the infield, not one. Now, I seriously am not much one for telling people that they have to diversify, and yet it is so refreshing when it occurs. I have no idea of the relations of people at Talayna’s to one another, but the overall impression is heartening to me.
Well, without further commentary, here are the shots.
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