In fact, today, I think I'll have a French Tickler, for I am a Protestant.

Something very odd going on here, I had this whole incredibly interesting stream of consciousness bit about beavers, buried treasure, being busy, that kind of thing, and then POOF (too much Ovaltine?), it's gone.

Oh well, that genie is out of the bottle and I don't remember much of it as I'm tired and have just returned from gardening, and I enjoy gardening as much as I'd enjoy chemotherapy, so let's just put it behind us, shall we?

Here is a typical Hobartian sunrise. I took it on Thursday morning. Not much more that I can say.

COMING UP LATER ON...

Henry and Ezra recorded LIVE (on video).

People should be very free with sex, but they should draw the line at goats.

I’m not sure why, but I quite like this photograph. I like the colour. . I like the dabs of yellow in all that blue and grey. I like the contrasting depth of the stones versus the flat of the concrete. I like the fact that there is an apparently healthy tree jutting out of the footpath. I like that in this one, I managed to avoid photographing my shoes.

Of course, I inevitably drew funny looks from all of the Hydro workers hurrying into work as I slouched outside their building taking photo after photo of a footpath. They were probably ruing the plight of the mentally ill in the community as they trundled past, embarrassed that this odd fellows behaviour made them think of something as dreary as mental illness.

But I will say, the pressure of this whole daily photo thing has done wonders for my confidence to just whip out the camera and take a snap when something appears and takes my fancy. That said, I have a profound timidity to do so if it involves people (or at least people who might notice what I’m doing). I’m not sure if this is down to anti-terror laws, fear of being branded a dirty old man (some greys hairs now) or just plain not wanting to upset someone; but I am apparently unable to take photos of strangers.

Maybe I’ll force myself to half a crack at it at the bus stop this afternoon after I knock off.

Just not the dudes with swastikas tattooed on their necks.

A new strip...

And the lovely Jennifer makes her first ever appearance!

The source of a true smile is an awakened mind.

As a point of comparison to the [rather wonderful if I do say so myself] photograph of Ezra posted yesterday, I thought that I'd dig up a photo of a very youthful-looking Henry from way back in the heady days of January of 2007. Here you can see Hank at the same age as the (new) littlest Hobo, sporting a grin that makes you wonder just how much he's had to drink.

To answer a question posed in the comments, I think that Henry has certain features that mark him in close similarity to his mother (it's the eyes, you see, and the milky white skin of a Russian Tsaress). It was perhaps most pronounced when he was a wee bairn, but he still carries a glint of Jennifer everywhere that he goes.

Ezra, on the other hand, I think carries a little more of me in him. He's a good shade or two darker than Henry, which one must assume is a trait picked up from my side. He has darker eyes too (me), and a knowing grin that hints at a depth of character, honour, unabashed masculinity and taut moral fibre that can only be from me! Like myself, he also is an exceedingly humble chap.

I hope that answers the question adequately.

Compassion is the desire that moves the individual self to widen the scope of its self-concern to embrace the whole of the universal self.

Two (non-cute kiddie related) images today, and it continues my tendency to (either)

1. Equivocate due to an inexplicable loss of confidence in my ability to judge the merits of a photograph; or
   
2. Actively engage my audience into the creative process.
   

Both photos were taken this morning on my way to work. Not dissimilar to an image that I’ve featured before. Now, I really do like that photograph, but wasn’t satisfied with the reflection of the flag, which kind of ruins the shot. I narrowed down to two favourites from an original batch of nine. Originally, I felt that the image above was the clear winner, as it continues my fascination with getting down low into the shot and utilising a perspective that (wankery alert) “challenges orthodoxy”.

[There are a multitude of examples just in the last two months. Perhaps I feel it might hide the deficiencies of the camera (or its operator!)]

But, I dunno. In the shot below, I know that the colours and detail on the rope and chain are all washed out; but conversely, the reflection is far, far better. I thought about going black and white to minimise the muting of the colour, but then I lose much of what I like of the reflection.

I know that a lot of keen photographers follow this blog (many, if not most, far better than I), and am very much interested in your opinion. Are the flaws in that second shot beyond salvaging? And is the first shot as good as my gut tells me?

There is no wealth like knowledge, and no poverty like ignorance.

Here is part two of my sop to the angry mob. This one, taken just this morning, is of my smiley baby boy, dear little Ezra™, who really is the sweetest little man on the planet. Guaranteed, if you (in this order and out loud)

1. Tickle his hands;
   
2. Tickle his tum;
   
3. Tickle his knees;
   
4. Tickle his feet;
   
5. Tickle his toes;
   
6. Tickle his chin;
   
7. Tickle his cheek; and
   
8. Tickle his nose,
   

He will give you the biggest smile this side of Buddha.

I'm addicted to Ezra.

Do not allow children to mix your martini. It is unseemly and they use too much vermouth.

A very quick post to start the day of Henry trying on his mother's shoes. I know that you lot can get pretty nasty if I'm not regular in posting his picture.

Reason is the natural organ of truth; but imagination is the organ of meaning.

Here is something of an experimental photograph today. I saw this beat up old car pull up at the lights this morning, bumper held together by packing tape, and whipped out the camera, got down low for an interesting angle, and took one snap, then it was gone.

As a model of the flawless photograph, I concede that it is somewhat lacking, but I like it’s potential as a ‘beginning’, ‘middle’ or indeed ‘end’ of a far more thrilling story.

So, the thing I like about this image is how it seems to me an invitation to the viewer to 'fill in the gaps' of its deficits rather than an attempt to tell a complete story.

So I look at in think: ‘how did we get to this point?’

Is that too wanky?

If so, I’m blaming a severe lack of sleep, the lethargy that follows days of being angry about things beyond your immediate control, and far too much thinking about the work of David Lynch than is conducive to good mental health.

Ads That I Like: #62

Here we have an advertisement for Ovaltine from 1945. Personally, I think that they should resurrect it, holus bolus and run the bugger again in 2008! Think of the publicity! Think of the extravagant song and dance routine that you could roll out for TV spots! Tie in a sports star endorsement (Ian Thorpe?), and their work is done!

Yesterday, all my troubles were rolled into one...

I really do need to post this now. This was (one very small part) of my tale of woe yesterday.

The intoxication of anger, like that of the grape, shows us to others, but hides us from ourselves.

So that's the last of them, and hopefully I will have relaxed by the time this goes up. Which did you like best? I'm happy for the feedback, as it might sharpen my eye for what draws people's eye and what might not.

When angry count four; when very angry, swear.

You may have noticed a pattern in the titles today, oh yes it has been a grand day indeed!

There is an equation that is guaranteed to grind my gears, get my goat and aggravate my normally placid demeanour. It looks something like:

(Incompetence * Ignorance) / Hypocrisy + (Inefficiency *Righteous indignation) = a very angry man.

Anger and intolerance are the twin enemies of correct understanding.

Here is shot two, this will appear as if by magic, as my presence is seemingly essential at yet another meaningless event rather than doing my actual job. So, fingers crossed on that new job!

An angry man opens his mouth and shuts his eyes.

I’m going on another posting splurge today, because I have taken four photos this morning, and can’t decide which I like best. Therefore, I shall post them all and leave it up to you to decide. Here is number one, in which I like the effect of the sun just breaking through the clouds and illuminating the river. You would be forgiven for being surprised that we had high winds and a lot of rain just an hour and a half later.

Well, I laughed...

I've decided to cut back on the strip to maybe every second or so day, so as to not overload people (or run out of ideas too quickly). It is a bit of fun though, I'd encourage everyone to visit Bitstrips and have a crack at making one yourselves.

The education of a man is never completed until he dies

Here is the last of today's series of three. Yes, I did take an awful lot of photos of these two over the weekend. How could I not when they are both so awfully photogenic?

I like all three, which is why I couldn't resist posting them all so soon after my last splurge of kiddie shots. They display a side of Henry, a certain tenderness, that one does get to see quite a bit. It just happens to often be buttressed by periods of brute force or extreme energy, which often make it difficult to capture with a rubbish camera.

The strongest is never strong enough always to be master, unless he transforms strength into right, and obedience into duty.

I just really, really, like this photograph.

He ain't heavy, he's my brother

No, it's not a Bill Henson retrospective, just two brave young men out to take on the world with just a smile on their faces and each other for support.

For added measure (and because I happen to like the song very much), I've added the video from the Hollies for your enjoyment below. Oh, the summer of '69, those were the best days of my life! (Or maybe that was somebody else...)

A happy life consists not in the absence, but in the mastery of hardships.

"All good things must come to an end", that's what Henry said when he finished his chocolate-coated strawberry on the way home from the Tulip Festival.

Then he said "more!, but that's another story.

Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal

They're not tulips, but these flowers are arranged in the shape of a Tasmanian Tiger.

No sign of Nicholas Cage, however.

Fashion passes, style remains.

Say what you like about the man, there's one thing for certain about Henry: the lad has style.

Once ... in the wilds of Afghanistan, I lost my corkscrew, and we were forced to live on nothing but food and water for days.

Of course, at these events there is always someone who gets out of hand, loses control, has a little too much to drink, and consequently ends up rolling around on the floor.

it's spring when the world is puddle-wonderful

I figure that it being the Tulip Festival and all, I really should show some tulips! So here you go, some lovely red and yellow ones, with some pansies thrown in for good measure.

Quien quiera peces, que moje el culo

Aware of Henry's large appetite, the Bridgewater High School Farm's travelling roadshow wisely invested in a fence. It didn't deter the little bloke from having a go, but the three thousand volt current did eventually persuade him to give it up.

Thankfully we avoided a repetition of the three missing guinea pigs and a half eaten emu experienced at last year's summer festival event (featuring a former Hooley Dooley!) at St David's Park.

Heaven is under the feet of mother

I let Ezra take this one, it's a view of Henry and Jen from a baby's perspective. And no, Henry chose not to share his chocolate coated strawberry on a stick with anyone.

Charity begins at home and justice begins next door

Ezra of course made an appearance at the Tulip Festival as well. He was guarding the empanadas, and helpfully kept this seagull at bay. Thank god we took him, or I would have lost my lunch.

To love is not to look at one another, but to look together in the same direction

We all made the trip to the Tulip Festival (at the Hobart Royal Botanical Gardens) today, and came back armed with numerous photographs. Aware and fearful of the mob demanding photos of Henry and company, I shall go on a bit of a splurge and post a heap over the next few hour. That should save my skin for another week or so.

Here he can see the star of the show himself, appropriately equipped with an ollibollin in one hand, and a chocolate coated strawberry in the other. Never deterred from a challenge, he made short work of both!

Sick on weekends

With apologies to Mr Lynch...