February 20th, 2005

laszlo moholy-nagy_chx


Something has happened either to my brain or to my copy of the IrfanView image viewer. I seem to remember being able to right click images in that program, but I tried it a while ago and it didn't work. I've never set the program to make it impossible to right click and copy images (in fact I don't know that the program even has such a feature- I certainly haven't been able to find it), but all of a sudden every image I open in the program refuses to be right clicked- and I can't remember if it has always been like that.

I can still copy images in my browser, but none of those are images that have been in my copy of IrfanView lately. Thus, I'm uploading an image that has been there, and posting it so I can see if it's right-clickable from the browser. If it isn't, then something has happened in Sluggo's tiny brain, and I'll have to figure out how to fix it.

The picture is of Concow Reservoir, a place down the canyon a few miles which collects water from an old flume owned by PG&E. I think I posted this picture before, from my now defunct PictureTrail account. That was a smaller file, though, since PictureTrail imposed a size limit. This one is a nice big wallpaper size, if you click through to the original version. I just hope it's right-clickable. It's a nice scene. I'd like to go back and take another picture of it some day, when I have a real camera.

Concow Reservoir
Concow Reservoir

caillebotte_man at his window


That the rain persists, I am pleased. That, through the night, gusts of wind have driven it against my windowpane with a satisfying clamor, I am most delighted. That the fresh, cold air rushing in my window clears my head and invigorates me, I am quite ecstatic. A February rain is a splendid thing. I have listened for hours as it cast itself over streets and lawns and rooftops, making sound of their shapes and textures. I have remembered how it sounds in the midst of the woods, collected by the pines into larger drops which fall with heavy, muffled splats onto the soft, needle-carpeted floor. I have heard the runoff bubbling out of the downspout, and noted how it makes a softer and higher-pitched version of the sound it will make when, gathered with other rivulets and streams, it will plunge along the canyon as part of the river, its basso profundo thundering from the cliffs. The entire night has been turned liquid by these descending clouds. I am cleansed.

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laszlo moholy-nagy_chx

Loitering Light

Daylight keeps invading the evening. The evening retreats. I would encourage it to resist, knowing the daylight to be the vanguard of sultry summer, but I also know that the earth is unlikely to tilt back the other way on its axis. Summer is inevitable. I will enjoy what remains of winter, and hope for a mild spring.

Also, I know this to be true: any prepared food product which includes as part of its name the phrase "home style" or any variant thereof, is bound to be crap. I'll say no more on the usbject. You have been warned.