Thursday 7.28.11b
When I was not out there attempting to save cats – and by “cats” I don’t mean Jazz Musicians – I was otherwise terrorizing the rest of the neighborhood or doing sensible things like attending school. At that time our school system was divided into 3 different little towns. The town I was in was K through 3 and 9th through 12th. 4 and 5 were in another town 4 or 5 miles South East and 6 through 8 were in a town 6 or so miles West. In those years not in town, we rode the bus. In order to ride the bus to 4th and 5th grade, we had to walk about 1 block to the East of our house and cross the train tracks. At that time there was a magnificent wooden bridge that crossed the tracks. It was an adventure all by itself. There were no speed limits on trains blowing though town at that time so standing on the top of the rickety bridge with a train rumbling underneath was very exciting.
In that block we traveled in between home and the bus, there was the house of a man named Tiny Hicks. Sometimes we called him Fat Hicks. At one time he was billed as “The World’s Tallest Fat Man” for some circus.
Usually, on a nice day in the fall or spring we would find Tiny sitting on his porch. He sat on a very wide wooden bench. Sometimes he would be eating a bowl of Saccharin, or so we were told. Not sure what it actually was. We would stop to hang out and talk with Tiny. I can’t really recall any specific conversation. I don’t recall a lot of circus stories. He was one of our local town characters and lived in this house with his brother, Chick. Yes, Chick Hicks. Long before the animated “Cars” series came about.
Every year, Tiny would have a birthday party and invite the neighborhood kids. We would show up in the front yard. He would have an array of sparklers stuck into various boards and I think in the couple of trees in front of his house. There would be large paper grocery bags full of greasy buttery popcorn. At some point, the sparkler show would begin. All I really remember about it is that it was what we did.
One late summer, the street was under construction in front of Tiny’s house. We were walking home from the bus. As we came over the bridge we could see that Tiny was on a folding chair along the side of the road in front of his place. He was sitting and he had a shovel. He was very slowly filling in the hole in the street. His explanation was that these guys were just taking too long and he was tired of his street being messed up. He was going to fill it in. I think that lasted about 5 minutes.
Also at that time, my father was teaching in a town about 15 miles away. Since Tiny did not have a car, Dad would haul him to this town once in a while. Tiny also sold “Adult Novelty Items.” We did not know what that meant. Thinking about it now, I still don’t really know what an “Adult Novelty Item” was in the late 60’s. Whatever he had, it was in a rather large trunk-like suitcase. It was dark. Tiny was usually dressed fairly well on these outings.
We would watch Dad pick up Tiny. Tiny would put his suitcase in the back and then down the road they would go in Dad’s 1966 Impala.
Years later, I was at the local barber shop waiting for a cut. The barber shop was always a cool place to be and usually was filled with a lot of local flavor. This time, Tiny was there. Over the years I had witnessed him in other places besides his house or Dad’s car. Once in a while we would see him at the local restaurant. He would sit on two stools at once. Some jeans manufacturer once created an ad featuring a pair of custom made jeans for Tiny. The ad was a photo of several neighborhood kids standing in Tiny’s pants.
This barber shop experience was different than anything else. By this time, we had moved across town. It had been a few years since we were kids hanging out in front of his house. My parents had divorced, Dad was in another town. I was maybe 17 or so. Sitting there in the barber shop, I don’t think Tiny remembered me. There were no little kids in the shop at the time, so the conversation was more adult. Finally, Tiny was talking about Sideshow/Circus days. He would talk about late night card playing, drinking, women and a whole other darker side to my previous notion that circus was nothing but fun, fun, fun. Far from it.
When I look at the blog dashboard, which is not in view of anything here, I can see which search words are used to find my blog. Lately, someone was looking for “world’s Tallest Fat Man”, so I figured I’d help out a bit. I probably wrote something about him previously.
Thursday 7.28.11
I must have been 6 or 7. Not having internet, video, gaming or any of that stuff, my activities usually were much less technical. Roaming the neighborhood in search of adventure was the norm. I usually did not follow boundaries such as sidewalks or fences. These were unnecessary obstacles.
One day on such an outing, I somehow found myself in a neighbor’s driveway. Pea gravel driveway, by the way. I noticed a yellow cat walking into their garage. I knew that this was not their cat, they had no cat. In fact, they had some ugly Pomeranian mix named Cuddles. I knew that this cat in this garage was not right and that if Cuddles was in the vicinity, it probably would not be good for the yellow cat.
I followed the cat into the garage. It had jumped up into the attic part of the garage which was really a bunch of boards that supported stuff… up and out of the way. The cat was at the edge, looking down and making a noise like it wanted off. Future hero that I was, I would rescue this cat. How hard could it be? It was just a cat.
I climbed up into the attic area and made my way over to the edge where the cat was located. The cat patiently waited for me to arrive. We spent a couple of seconds petting and then I figured I had better get to saving this cat. I would carry it down. Suddenly, it occurred to me that I had heard somewhere that cats always land on their feet. Most likely, I saw this on a cartoon… you know, when they fall a long way and stop in mid air – turn over and land. Being a young scientifically minded kind of person who would one day research many other odd and unique things, I decided to find out for myself.
I held the cat out from the edge and would drop it. It was probably 6 or 8 feet to the ground. As I let go, the fully clawed cat swung a wild paw and connected with the inside of one of my nostrils. I had released the cat entirely – and now it was dangling from my nostril and going about 1000 miles an hour in all directions. Somehow, I pushed the cat off and out of my nose. It must have landed 6 or 8 feet below but I can’t really say if I discovered any truth in the “landing on all fours” theory.
I went home with a lot of blood all over me and less of an appreciation for cats.
Friday 7.22.11
Predator Hunter.
Wow, I learn something new every day. I had made some signs for a local sandwich shop today and was returning to the shop when I saw a sticker across the window of someone’s pickup truck. I was just going to say pickup and leave the truck part off. I thought “pickup” sounded more “down home like” but then added the word truck just to nail down my meaning. “Pickup” gives it that distinct flavor, not to be confused with a semi truck or the Schwann’s man. Now that this is clear, I will go on.
I make stickers for people all the time. Most are for small business people. More often than not this is the case since the economy took a shit a couple of years ago and the GM plant went out of the area. There was a lot more disposable income to be parted with for such delights as putting your current girlfriend’s name on the passenger door or naming your ride – just to do it. Old standbys are putting the word “Chevy” on your Chevy or the name of your favorite tractor model. Big differences between Green and Yellow and Red and White around these here parts. Once in a while there are more creative names for these machines. I suppose they somehow reflect the personality of the owner. There were a lot of “Lil’s” for a bit. Lil’ Toy, Daddy’s Lil’ Toy, Lil’ White Maggot (went on a garbage truck) Lil’ Outlaw… until the lil’ thing became over saturated. One guy had the words “Sperm Bubble” placed on his windshield for all to see. It was on some dinky little, or should I say Lil’ shit of a car and I assume no one was impressed in any way, shape or form.
Today it was PREDATOR HUNTER. I did not make this label, it was just there. My first thought was that it was kind of redundant. Is not a predator a hunter? Is not a hunter also a predator? Perhaps not. Perhaps the hunter is the one who hunts for sport while the predator is the one who “preds” without any distinction of sport or need. Just “preds.” It makes sense then that the predtor hunter is one who hunts predators. Yep.
So before I decided to even mention this, I looked it up. Damn, if there aren’t clubs and groups and associations all over the country that call themselves “Predator Hunters.” I feel more secure now knowing that if I run into a predator here in cheese land, like the ever elusive wild Holstein or Dreaded Tufted Tit Mouse I’ll feel confident that there is someone local who can assist me.
Changing directions, last week there was a major kink encounter taking place in Madison. Thinking I would have grandkids on the weekend, I did not go. Well, sort of. I had been in contact with a model from Toronto who was interested in shooting. Friday night would work. Here are a few results of Jacki and her new red shoes…
Look more closely, you’ll see the shoes.
Thursday 7.14.11
Naked Pictures.
Once in a while I take a picture of someone without their clothing. Being the show off that I am, I sometimes post images like these on a website called DeviantArt. When you do post images there, you have the opportunity to allow people to comment on those images. I usually allow that. Every so often I get some interesting and/or positive feedback. Sometimes negative. Sometimes critical. I don’t mind.
There are some comments that cause me to stop in my tracks. Usually they are not the comments about the lighting or the composition of the shot. They are the comments that make me want to go out there and revoke computer time for those who have posted the comment. The following shot received a couple that won’t leave my brain.
This model came in and wanted to do some simple nude shots. No clothes. Just a naked woman on the floor. Nude images like this are nothing new. A naked female is nothing new. My best guess is that most people have been nude at some point in their lifetime so seeing nudity should not be much of a shock. People comment…
Comment #1. “can you say pornography?”
I looked at that for a bit and tried my best to read it. You know, read it… like get into the mind of the person who wrote it. This person is from the UK and claims to be a ‘Proffesional’ Graphic Novelist. Yes, Proffesional, not professional.
I respond: I seldom comment on comments. Usually I just let the comments come and go as they are. In this case, your short little four word comment/question completely blows my mind. Can I say pornography? Actually, yes I can say pornography. I fail to understand your comment/question on this particular image. Perhaps it is just some gut reaction key stroked without much thought. To consider this particular image pornographic is just silly. Perhaps it is not the greatest nude image in the world’s body of nude work but it is just that – a nude female. Nothing more. No suggestion of anything else other than a nude woman on the floor of my studio. Without clarification on just exactly what you are trying to say, I must dismiss your comment and consider it nothing more than a waste of everyone’s time.
My witty way to kick a guy in the nuts, I suppose. Once he recovers, I should nut-kick him again for claiming to be a professional and spelling professional incorrectly. Dude, you are from the UK… I thought you people invented the language. Don’t try to change something that already works.
Comment #2. “how come this angle has no wings ?”
Which angle? The angle of her pose? The angle of what exactly? Or perhaps you meant to type ANGEL.
Again, I need to start revoking computer comment time. We have not even touched on “your” and you’re” yet.
Sunday 7.10.11
Recent pictures…
Friday 7.1.11 (but I did not get around to finishing until 7.10.11… sorry)
One of the best statements ever.
From the 6.30.11 edition of “The Daily Show” with Jon Stewart: “These are people who’s job is interpreting what a group of dead founders were thinking 200 and some years ago and they can’t agree what happened right in front of their f–king eyes.”
He was discussing the recent Wisconsin Supreme Court choking episode. If you watch that Fox clip it shows Prosser grabbing the mic from the reporter and then returning it. That action right there could suggest Prosser’s ability to act before he thinks – thinks he has acted wrongly and then he backs off. Could be that way with the choke hold… as he felt her skin under his skinny old fingers, he thought that maybe doing this was not a great idea – especially with all of these witnesses.
But the Daily Show statement above covers another thought. Watching the earlier part where they discussed the ramblings of people like Sarah Palin and Michelle Bachmann I wondered how in the hell anyone could ever seriously think that either one of these two could become our President. For crying out loud, get the facts right at least. Do not try to re-write history. The scary part is that these dumb-ass sound bites from these people will stick in the minds of some of us who have not recalled how our history happened. I encourage everyone to do some research. We can go back and get the right information about our history and laugh off what these people are saying. If they are elected and continue to misrepresent information – critical current information on our economy, world affairs and the like – well, we’re screwed.
jsvexperimental 
