'Bred Crumbs
This is now the past. Go to the new 'Bred Crumbs.
06.11.02
11 AM
Sometime this week*, Netscape 4 turns five years old. To whatever-is-the-opposite-of-celebrate this anniversary, 'Bred Crumbs issues a warning: within a month, this site will be liberated from tables and redesigned to meet Web standards, which means any lingering Netscape 4 readers will probably get the bare text and little else. (Though maybe that's all you really need anyway.) We understand the pain of upgrading quite well, but, come on, five-year-old wretched browser. It's time to move on.
* Links via Metafilter.
07:54 AM
There are thousands of sentences in the English language I never dreamed I'd construct, much less utter truthfully, and here is one of them:
This weekend, I saw my boyfriend shoot a 36-pound carp.
Yes shoot, with bow and arrow. Apparently this is something you do if you grow up in Madera, a small town in the yellow part of the Central Valley where all is farming, hunting, and satellite TV. It's the kind of country a bleach-blond San Franciscan would feel completely out of place in if he weren't there with his boyfriend, and if they didn't have a fun and hospitable host. (And if he hadn't grown up in similar surroundings 2,500 miles away.) When you're with good people, you can easily gloss over the oddness of staying in a house whose walls are covered in giant animal heads, and having to sleep singly on family legacy "Ricky and Lucy beds," as Don, our host, called them.
Once you've accepted that, and eaten a fantastic dinner of smoked tri-tip and wild boar, and riffed Final Destination on the dish, and had pre-dawn fantasies of ripping the head off the rooster outside, then going out on a boat to shoot at fish is the next logical step.
I spectated, soaking up sun and warmth happily while Don cast for bass and Robbie armed for carp. Robbie hadn't shot in maybe five years, but when Don pointed out the giant – whose hugeness we didn't yet have a firm grasp of – Robbie nailed it in the back. Don shot one more arrow to make sure the fish was finished and dragged it into the boat, and the choruses of omigod began as the yard-long beast was stretched out before us. Despite the shallowness of the lake, and the disturbance of the boat, and the freakish high winds, Robbie had landed a monster.
It could have seemed weird, hunting fan that I'm not, to be proud of my man for offing the animal. But I was. Am.
This weekend, I saw my boyfriend shoot a 36-pound carp.
Yes shoot, with bow and arrow. Apparently this is something you do if you grow up in Madera, a small town in the yellow part of the Central Valley where all is farming, hunting, and satellite TV. It's the kind of country a bleach-blond San Franciscan would feel completely out of place in if he weren't there with his boyfriend, and if they didn't have a fun and hospitable host. (And if he hadn't grown up in similar surroundings 2,500 miles away.) When you're with good people, you can easily gloss over the oddness of staying in a house whose walls are covered in giant animal heads, and having to sleep singly on family legacy "Ricky and Lucy beds," as Don, our host, called them.
Once you've accepted that, and eaten a fantastic dinner of smoked tri-tip and wild boar, and riffed Final Destination on the dish, and had pre-dawn fantasies of ripping the head off the rooster outside, then going out on a boat to shoot at fish is the next logical step.
I spectated, soaking up sun and warmth happily while Don cast for bass and Robbie armed for carp. Robbie hadn't shot in maybe five years, but when Don pointed out the giant – whose hugeness we didn't yet have a firm grasp of – Robbie nailed it in the back. Don shot one more arrow to make sure the fish was finished and dragged it into the boat, and the choruses of omigod began as the yard-long beast was stretched out before us. Despite the shallowness of the lake, and the disturbance of the boat, and the freakish high winds, Robbie had landed a monster.
It could have seemed weird, hunting fan that I'm not, to be proud of my man for offing the animal. But I was. Am.
[Previously]
Week of 06.02.02
Features
Now at the new 'Bred Crumbs:
Still here:
Hidden Deadly Productions makes short films, including CrossWalk (2003) and The Point of Boxes (coming in 2006?).
Pictured: Rubble from the destruction of the Central Freeway, San Francisco, April 2003. Photos by the author.
Pictured: Views from San Francisco Bay, July 2003. Photos by the author.
Pictured: Videogames projected onto a wall from an Atari 2600, July 2003. Photos by the author.
Pictured: Ranch near Hollister, New Year's Day 2003. Photos by the author.
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(cc)1996-2005 Tim Bland. This work licensed under a Creative Commons License.