All winter, I take pictures of snow creations, documenting the construction and the gradual demise of these monuments to impermenence. If taking pictures of snowmen has taught me anything, it's that people regard you as highly suspicious for taking pictures of snowmen. Some will ask what you're doing, others tell you to get away from their snow property. It's strange how possessive people can be over flakes of solidified water...

Saturday, February 18, 2006

snow tracks

Why should snowpeople get all the glory? On my travels, I've found many interesting things in the medium of snow. No, I'm not talking about dog feces...

There's something very wonderful about a set of animal tracks in freshly fallen snow. I suppose it's the beauty of impermanence. Sort of like a masterpiece done on an Etch-a-Sketch, you know that it won't last for long, and so you're compelled to stare at it, meditate upon it. Then you feel serene. Then you smush the tracks with your foot, and they're gone forever...

Saturday, February 11, 2006

microcosm of the packers season

I know football season is over, so I'll try to be brief.

We all knew it would be a down season, but still 0-4

was unnerving and left us a little wobbly.

But then we beat, nay, spanked the hurricane-weary Saints

52-3. Some people would say it was wrong to kick a team like that

when they are down. Not me. I was on top of the world.

But it was all downhill from there...a long, slow, drawn-out fall

on our asses. On national television, no less.

This picture is oddly reminisent of Bat Starr's plunge across the goal line in the Ice Bowl. Only without the glory. Still, it could be worse...I could be a Viking fan.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

venus de milo

Sadly, the ravages of time and sunshine had already taken their toll by the time I discovered her on a backroad not too far from my house. I couldn't let it go one second more with documenting her for posterity.

Not only do I admire the artist's obvious skill, but also his or her willingness to be seen cupping snow-breasts out in their front yard, in plain view of God and everyone. But then, there is no art without suffering, or at the very least, awkwardness.