Camo craze

Last summer, when the Sson's family visited, my teen-age granddotter was sporting grey camo pants. Which, of course, said that a fad was well underway, as epitomized by sites such as The Camo Shop.

Earlier this past summer I had seen this camp chair at a local auto show and two days ago, my taxi driver had installed a new cover for the passenger seat -- you guessed it, camo.

And here's the cap, worn by the same driver.

So I made a point of photographing a batch of camo clothing when I was last at the WalMart. A hoodie (above) and cargo pants (below) for a boy child.

Camo cargoes for a boy teen...

...fleece pants for dad (above) and a grown-up hoodie (below). Nice (and unusual) touch: images from Nature on the hoodie in place of the usual blobs.

Above, another different approach to camo design; below, inexpensive camo gloves ($4).

Baby camo I knew about from several years ago. But pink camo came as a complete surprise to me when the dotter discussed the problem of outfitting her young one for Halloween. (That's the GD who's, like, totally into pink.) Turns out there's girly camo all over the place, but especially at Target. The bedding (with matching curtains available) is just one example; Target even offers a tent for the budding princess in a similar pattern. Talk about an early introduction to irony...

P.S. Because I was sure you wanted to see my very own camo, here it is. Cool (literally) summer pants that originated as part of a sleeper set; the top was girly girly, with lace.

Gotcha!

If you look closely at the scrub jay above, you'll note 1) a small patch of blue and 2) the color fringe that's a dead giveaway that I pushed the zoom past its optical limit. However, the news is that I actually got a nearly passable picture of the elusive jaybird. Perhaps if I had a feeder, like my SIL had up in Flag, where the Steller's jays congregated, I might be able to do better. As it is, there are several of these guys living near my house, but if I spot one and make the least move, such as peering through a camera, he's gone in a flash. So I'm half-way happy with this picture.

So why can't a blue jay be more like a spider, huh? Spider sits in my bathroom wash basin and I click away. I guess that my future is as an arachnid portrait artist.

High-rise. Low-rise. Why???

So you own a car. Or a pick-up. And you figure your wheels could be improved. New paint job, maybe. A better hi-fi (heaven help us!) A locker for expensive gear. A power winch to get down into a small canyon or out of a mud hole. These are things I, a pedestrian, can understand.

But what I don't get are all those high-rise (above) and those low-rise (below) vehicle modifications. Exactly what do they get you, except, maybe envy from fellow louts?

Take the high-rise pick-up. More road clearance, a plus on unpaved mountain trails? Nope, if you look closely, you'll note that the differential is actually quite low, quite likely to get hung up on the center of a deeply rutted outback road. Apparently these vehicles haven't been modified for the boonies. So: what's the big deal? (Need I mention that a stereo with loud, booming base appears to be an auxiliary part of a high-rise pickup...)

Then we have the low-rise machine, truly a city phenomenon. As someone who loves the back country mountain roads, I keep envisioning one of these cars motoring up the bumpy, rocky road to the Copper Basin overlook. As. If. (And, as long as I am whinging, why, why, why, ruin the lines of a lovely antique automobile?)

The epitome of a low-rise job. I wonder if this street rod can even make it over a speed bump without ruining that lovingly polished paint job. It certainly wouldn't make it up Demerse Street these days, would it?

Off-the-Wall Links: Surely you've been wondering what how fractals look in 3-D. You know you have. Here's a place to get a few views. How about the domino world record? Two and a half hours for the last domino to be pushed over. I 'm fascinated by volcanoes and found this gorgeous picture of a recent eruption in the Russian Kuril Islands. And to think, the new word of the year comes from the burgeoning social web: the verb, unfriend, which has been added to the New Oxford American Dictionary.

Asphalt graffiti

Pretty pallid stuff compared to the works that Tombo finds in assorted underpasses, alleys and sewers; unfortunately, Tom's currently on hiatus, though PrescottStyle has just come up with a lovely graffiti UFO somewhere out the White Spar. (And, speaking of graffiti, there's that new fellow on line, Prescott Streets).

But, back to my subject. This quiet trail down the middle of Beach Street puzzled me when I saw it nearly a year ago and still does. Q #1 -- how was it made? Q #2 -- why? It isn't big and splashy like modern, upfront outlaw art, so why bother?

Perhaps what we have is a sedate older person, someone whose public expressions in the old days were limited to scratches in the dirt or mud and, on a very lucky occasion, in fresh sidewalk cement. Of course, I'm quite convinced that a bicycle was somehow involved.

The grunge primitives

Meet this year's crop of dolls from the Grunge Goddess, on display at the Victorian Holiday Boutique this weekend. One of the big Raggedy Ann lookalikes was spirited away right after I snapped this shot. What can I say except that I love these guys. All of 'em.

I'm lucky enough to have this cat, Eunice by name, in my kitchen. It was given me, as a complete surprise, by neighbors involved in the first of the Victorian boutiques, way back in 2007.

I think you should take a closer look at the dolls, especially the clowns to the right, suitable for Dia Las Muertes. The Grunge Goddess, BTW, is one Norine Centofante.

Isn't the cow splendid?
More clowns.

Assorted dolls plus another cow or similar ruminant.

Last year's boutique ladies...

...and three new beauties for 2009. I'd bet the pair below are possibly Spanish: that is what their costumes plus roses in the hair insist. I'd like to have every one of them, if I were not already inundated in Stuff!

Leaves at night

And at dusk, as in the picture above, over at the Sam Hill Warehouse; I was pushing my camera to get any sort of image in the light that was available, to be perfectly honest.

This autumn's rose leaves, helped along by the flash.

And my favorite, a catalpa over on South Montezuma, caught back in aught-07. If I remember correctly, street lighting was sufficient for this picture.

Things I never noticed...

...at the local WalMart. Maybe that's because they weren't there previously. Maybe because I wasn't looking or, if looking, not pointed in the right direction. Whatever. So -- in the unlikely event that we ever get another rain here in droughty Prescott, a plastic bag specifically designed to cover our wet umbrellas. This I see as much an amenity for the store (no ruined merchandise) as for the customer.

And a totally local touch. Pretty high up, in the midstore entranceway. My question for all of you Prescottonians out there: how many of you have ever seen a badger in the wild? In the Prescott area? I've become convinced that it is a mythical critter, like the roc, though teams from around the country are often called The [xyz] Badgers and never The [xyz] Rocs. I wonder why?


Skulls & Other Links: Tucson has a mighty excellent Dia Los Muertes parade; Warren has covered it in three grand posts. Speaking of skeletons & skulls, are you familiar with the great skull out the Date Creek Road? I've known the skull for a long time, but the Goa entranceway lions were another matter; Anil introduced them in his most recent post from India.

Back country Prescott

Happy and unhappy mailboxes -- a clue to the current state of ranching/farming in a part of the city that's destined to become just one more huge real estate development. The buildings on some spreads have been left to the elements; others are kept in repair and in use. All are on the dirt road between new 89A and old 89A, about which I posted recently.

A forgotten house in the cottonwoods (above) and a shed that's shedding (below).


It would appear that one barn is disintegrating, while others are kept in good repair on this farm (above).

Looking at the barn (above), I wasn't sure of its condition until I zoomed in (below).

And here (above, below) is a corral (or two) evidently no longer in use.

On the other hand, this spread (above, below) has an interesting history. It was, until the early 19aught30s, known as the northern Arizona dry farm, an ag experiment property run by the University of Arizona for 15 or more years to determine the best agricultural uses and practices for the dry, cool Prescott climate. The property has been in private hands since the U of A closed its operation and still looks to be quite busy.

WallyWorld money corner

Among the customer amenities at WalMart West, where I shop if and when I shop, is the money corner against one wall in the customer service department. All automated for your convenience. There's only one problem, a problem of language and meanings: take a close look at the CoinStar. Now tell me when coins ceased being cash. Heavy, yes, if you're hoarding nickels and dimes; might even wear a hole in your pocket. But the last I heard, a quarter was cash quite as much as a Cnote. Both legal tender backed by the feds, unlike, say, a check or a credit card which is only as good as your credit.

Of course, the CoinStar will take your jar full of coins, tote up the value and give you bills in their stead. All for a horrendous fee -- something like 10%. If the piggy bank is a kid's stash, the young'un should get experience of the grownup world by stopping at a bank to get those nifty kraft paper roll gizmos, making the rolls and turning them in at the bank for folding money. Last time I heard, no charge.

Bikes: a quartet from the past

Me, I've always wondered just how one mounted one of these machines, called in its day a penny-farthing or ordinary bicycle, according to a brief history of the bike at Wikipedia. It evolved from a French improvement on the earlier version velocipede at about the time that Prescott was becoming a town, which is why one resides in the transportation building over at the Sharlot Hall Museum. Not surprising, there were other problems -- balancing oneself up that high, bad weight distribution, plus the fact that the rider had to steer with the front wheel, which also held the pedals. Multi-tasking, old-style, as it were.

A chain-drive working the rear wheel was a major improvement introduced with the dwarf safety bike. I presume that dwarf refers to the modern-sized front wheel which replaced the big wheel. The model at the museum, a sign explains, is a safety racer, circa 1898, manufactured by the Pierce Cycle Co. of Angola, NY. Tubular tires were held to the wooden rims of the wheels by glue and air pressure. No brakes, either. To stop, the rider rocked the bike onto the front wheel while locking his legs against the pedals. Another sign notes that in 1896, a local man raced 100 miles on the old Black Canyon road in eight hours. (Silly me, I didn't take notes so I don't know if he was pedalling uphill or downhill. Makes a difference -- 4000 ft. elevation change...))

This is the ladies safety bicycle, made by the Niagara Bicycle Co., shortly after the turn of the century. It features a dropped frame and guards to keep long skirts out of the chain and wheels. To stop, the "spoon" brake was pushed down onto the front tire. And, forever after, at least into my own girlhood days, bicycles for girls were always distinguished by the dropped frame (and were never ever as comfortable as boys' bikes. Grrr. I think that was the point at which I became a closet feminist.)

An early tandem bicycle (built for two) surely resulted in frustrating physical quarrels -- either rider could steer, so the sign says. The one time I shared a tandem bike with a guy was a great disappointment: pumping the machine felt like one was working to move both bodies, not just oneself!