Skip to main content

One should always be a little improbable.


Here is Ez doing his best matinee idol squint into the sun. He is wearing a bib, but I reckon it could pass for a bandanna, a-la Clint Eastwood in A Fistful of Dollars. He is an amazing young fellow, my Ezra. Somehow he manages to straddle the line between Goethe, the outlaw Josey Wales, and James Hird.

It can't be easy.

Comments

Priyanka Khot said…
he sure can give Clint Eastwood a run for his money
Babzy.B said…
Beautiful picture , here in France it's mother's day today , so your shot is perfect !
Kris McCracken said…
Priyanka, he is always getting into gunfights...
Kris McCracken said…
Babzy, merry Mother's Day!
yamini said…
You bet!!! Ez must be thinking "Ohh Gosh!!! Not those flashbulbs again!!!"

The bib-bandana part, i agree whole-heartedly and yes, Ez (Henry too) has all the makings of a matinee idol. I just wish that he isn't partial to Hollywood and agrees to do regular movies in Bollywood as well.

That way, he would be honoured with the true frenzy of Indian movie fans a la Dev Anand, Rajesh Khanna and, of course, the good ole Shah Rukh Khan!!!!
Kris McCracken said…
Yamini, I very rarely use the flash...
yamini said…
Thanks for taking the steam out of my comment!!! :-P
Kris McCracken said…
Yamini, no problem!

Popular posts from this blog

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral