Dogs. Can’t live with them, can’t live without them. Bonnie and Gibbs are midway between clippings. They have not achieved “heap of dirty rags” level, but have passed the way-station titled “well-groomed Scottish Terriers.”
Filthy? Almost, but not yet disgusting. Not the level of filth that makes you feel an instant immersion in warm water and suds is a mandate … but you don’t necessarily want either dog snuggling next to your clean clothing. Or snoring on the couches if you have just changed the sofa covers.
I guess they are closer to “messy” rather than “filthy” but that is also a matter of opinion. One person’s mess is another’s filth, after all.
It hasn’t been a big week for photography, but I did spend some times trying to get a picture of this old, Moroccan cache box. I think it was created originally to store incense. I had an incense burner in the same style, but I sold it a few years ago. I kept this piece. I just put it back into use to hold a bunch of small items that had been rattling around my end table.
I use many of my antiques. Old bowls to hold fruit. Ancient vases for flowers. As long as they are still sturdy enough to do their intended jobs, I let them be part of the world rather than putting them behind glass.
Sort of square
It’s and old brass box
I’m not sure what you would call this texture.
It’s metal. Cold and hard. Not quite smooth, but not rough, either. Old metal. It’s been around. It is grooved, scuffed, and shows a bit of rust and abrasion. I’ve owned it since the early 1960s. It was an antique when I bought it, but the sellers didn’t know its history, only that “it is old.” Definitely right about that. It’s old. I think it was made in the mid 1800s, but possibly earlier.
It’s difficult to date brass. If anyone has an idea of its age, let me know, please. I think the handmade hinge on the back of the box may offer a clue.
With all of the crises in the world, national, and local, I’ve failed in pursuing due diligence to that most important of all issues, “Why are the screwing with all my superheroes?” Don’t I suffer enough from politicians? Do my beloved series and characters also have to give me grief?
We just watched an episode of Supergirland I am upset.
I’ve always been a DC fan. Back when we were kids, when comic books cost a dime and everybody read them, the world was divided into two teams. You were either Team Marvel or Team DC. Nary would the twain meet. Well, sometimes, but you didn’t admit it to anyone.
Marvel characters suffered. They had angst. In fact, it was from reading comic books that I learned the word ‘angst.’ All Marvel heroes wanted to do was help. Buy nobody appreciated them. They were haunted. Hunted. Disrespected. As often as not, hated. Marvel heroes had special super suits to disguise them. These costumes covered everything except their eyes. Considering that they were usually being hunted by every law enforcement agency in the world, full disguise was a good move.
DC supers, on the other hand were real heroes. They had power. They were bulletproof, faster than … well … a Flash of light. They could fly backwards around the earth to make time travel backwards. None of them had personal angst because they had no personal lives to angst about. They were their personae, even when they were in disguise. And their disguises were … well … on the light side of disguises, typically consisting of eyeglasses. Just eyeglasses.
Eyeglasses? = Not a hero.
No eyeglasses? = Can leap tall buildings at a single bound.
I have tried this with Garry and he swears he can’t recognize me without my glasses. Sometimes, I think he isn’t telling the whole truth.
Lately, the DC character seem to be competing with Marvel in the “misunderstood, woe is me” department. It pisses me off. If you can’t trust comic book superheroes to stay in character, what is this world coming to? We can’t trust the government, the polls, or political parties. We can’t trust media, the cops — or even the robbers.
Everyone is lying to everybody about absolutely everything … but … through it all as my worst fears have been confirmed by real events and my cynicism has deepened to misanthropy, I thought at least my DC superheroes would stay pure of heart and free from angst.
Not to be, oh woe is me.
When did Jimmy Olsen become a superhero? Now he is The Guardian? Really? He only became The Guardian in this week’s episode, but by the next episode (according to the coming attractions) the gubmint will be hunting him as a renegade. That’s SO not DC. That’s just wrong.
There are some wonderful architectural treasures on the tops of building in New England. It’s not easy to capture them. I am limited by my ground-side positioning. Nonetheless, this is a modest little selection from Boston and the Valley. Modern roofs aren’t all that interesting, but back around the turn of the century, roofs were amazing and intricate. Both on private homes and in public buildings, roofs were works of art.
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