I took the new lens to the zoo this morning for a little bit of practice before I go. Thought I’d share some unedited examples. Click them for larger versions.
A bunch of new things since I last posted any:
- I have a show running through the end of January at Presbyterian Church of the Apostles in Burnsville, mostly Minneapolis stuff and some landscapes.
- I got news of another show next fall at Hudson Hospital in Hudson, WI through the Phipps Gallery where I had a panorama last winter. I don’t have details of that yet, other than dates – October 14 to January 10. I sent them The Reader but given the audience I may end up showing Animal Geometries there instead.
- I’m headed out tomorrow on a three-plus-week, six-city road trip. I expect to see lots of people, take lots of photos, and eat lots of good food. The photos you’ll get to see eventually.
- For the purposes of the trip, I picked up a new lens, the Tamron 150-600mm f/5-6.3, filling out my focal length range in one fell swoop. I expect it to be useful both for landscapes and at the zoo. This is my first new lens in over four years, and if it does half as well for me as the last one I’ll be thrilled.
I suppose I should have posted this on election day. Oh well. Actually kind of a neat building up close, at night when there’s nobody there.
This is Minneapolis’ new courthouse, built in the 1970s across a plaza from the old one, which is still in use as City Hall. Apparently noted tightrope walker Philippe Petit, of World Trade Center fame, once did a performance there, though I can’t find any further details.
Prints available by themselves or in the holiday sale.
Here’s a Reader from the historic Turnblad Mansion at the American Swedish Institute. Prints available by themselves or in the holiday sale.
I’m going to be traveling from mid-November to mid-December, which means that if I’m going to do a holiday sale this year and get people things in time for Christmas, it has to be early. The any five prints sale worked well last year, so I’m going to bring it back, slightly expanded.
This year, get any five 8.5″ x 11″ prints, any two 10″x15″ or 12″x15″ prints, or any one 15″x22.5″ or 15″x20″ print for $150. I’ll also offer 30% off on panoramas and framed prints, though you’ll have to email me for that, as it’s easier to do manually. Sale runs through November 15.
The easiest place to see all the existing photos is here.
In addition, though I haven’t dome anything to automate it yet, I’m taking bitcoin, if anyone wants to pay that way. Email me for details.
The goddess leaned over the card table and whispered, “Go all in.”
She hovered before Caleb, cloudy and diaphanous, then cold and clear as desert stars. her body swelled beneath garments of fog: a sea rock where ships dashed to pieces.
This was the very first scene of the book, so Caleb didn’t know what she was the goddess of, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t the one-player-to-a-hand rule.
Caleb tore his gaze away, but could not ignore her scent, or the susurrus of her breath. He groped for his whiskey, found it, drank.
I should really try those Beats headphones, he thought. Though they don’t do anything about the smell.
The cards on the green felt table were night ladies, treacherous and sweet. Two queens rested facedown by his hand, her majesty of cups (blond, voluptuous, pouring blood and water from a chalice), and her majesty of swords (a forbidding Quechal woman with broad face and large eyes, who gripped a severed head by the hair). He did not have to look to know them. They were his old friends, and enemies.
He really should have looked; there was always a chance he misread his hand and really had something far less romantic, like Granny Mae or the Gay Waiter.
His opponents watched: a round Quechal man whose thick neck strained against his bolo tie, a rot-skinned Craftsman, a woman all in black with a cliff’s face, a towering four-armed creature made from silver thorns. How long had they waited?
The other three seats were filled with men somewhere between seventy and four million years old, each with a cup of black coffee. They had all folded preflop.
A few seconds, he thought, a handful of heartbeats. Don’t let them rush you.
Don’t dawdle, either.
Caleb worried about a few-second delay because he was the fastest actor in the history of No-Limit Holdem. This is how you can tell it’s a fantasy novel.
The goddess caressed the inner chambers of his mind. “All in,” she repeated, smiling.
Caleb wondered, not for the first time, how the goddess’ repertoire served her in limit games.
Sorry, he thought, and slid three blue chips into the center of the table.
Life faded from him, and joy, and hope.
Which was strange, because those things usually prevented people from ending up in a No-Limit Holdem cash game in the first place.
A part of his soul flowed into the game, into the goddess. He saw the world through her eyes, energy and form flowering only to wilt.
This pretty much explains Mike Matusow.
“Raise,” he said.
Caleb figured this would confuse his opponents, as he had just bet, it wasn’t his turn, and he wasn’t facing a bet anyway.
She mocked him with a smile, and turned to the next player.
Five cards lay faceup before the dealer. Another queen, of staves, greeted the rising sun in sky-clad silhouette – a great lady, greater still when set beside his pair. To her right the king of swords, grim specter, stood knife in hand beside a struggling crying child bound upon an altar. The other cards struck less dramatic figures, the eight and three of staves, the four of coins.
If everyone’s inner monologue when reading the board was like this, it would explain why games seem unable to achieve twenty hands an hour.
Three queens formed a strong hand, but any two staves could make a flush, and beat him.
However, a field goal won’t do it.
“Call,” said the man in the bolo tie.
“Call,” said the Craftsman with the rotting skin.
Caleb was beginning to think he shouldn’t have underbet the pot so dramatically.
“I see your raise,” said the woman, “and raise you two thousand.” She pushed twenty blue chips into the pot. The goddess whirled, a tornado of desire, calling them all to death.
“String bet,” said the three old men who had folded preflop, in unison, though they had not appeared to be paying attention, and Caleb was pretty sure the one in Seat 6 still had his mouth full of coffee. If Craft ever failed, surely some method of powering the cities of mankind could be wrung from the coordination energy of the common rules nit.
“String bet,” said the dealer a moment later, and pushed seventeen blue chips back to the woman in black. He turned and said “Three hundred to you” to the creature of thorns. The woman mucked her cards out of turn, the creature of thorns folded, and Caleb flipped over his queens to take the pot.
Unfortunately, he was supposed to get bluffed out, so now the rest of the book doesn’t work. Oops. Don’t string bet, kids.
If you’re going to have a giant tarantula, you can bet I’ll have a hard time not doing a Reader there. Mris and Lily are reading the spider chapter of The Hobbit.
I’m still in kind of a foot mood after yesterday, so here’s the front foot of a black bear.
Pretty much what it says on the tin.
About time we had another bridge vault, I think. This is the Mississippi River bridge of MN 60/WI 25, in Wabasha MN southeast of the twin cities, looking across the river toward Wisconsin.