Wednesday, November 30, 2005

What are those

In the upper right hand corner. Those look like ads. Crap -- who put ads on my page.

Tuesday, November 29, 2005


Camera Toss

Just grab any expensive hunk of gear and throw it around a bit. Despite the apparent crazyness of this -- the images are cute. Have a look. I may try it with my Graflex.

Despite the apparent randomness of the images, author Ryan Gallagher (clickykbd on flickr) clearly proves in these instructions that it is possible to control elements in the image. Go figure -- now it's looking like an art form.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

uh -- uhhmm -- Power Poles

Power Poles. &Copy; Shawn Kielty 2005.  All rights reserved.
© Shawn Kielty 2005. All rights reserved.

Aren't these things just gorgeous.

Sheephole Valley

Sheephole Valley, Copyright 2005Shawn Kielty.  All rights reserved.
&Copy; 2005 Shawn Kielty. All rights reserved.
I was facinated by how straight the road just becomes.

Sunday, November 20, 2005

"Do You Want Room?"

"A room? No, just the coffee." In the vernacular of the beautiful people, "Room" is leaving space for cream. It's a good thing we have active minds, otherwise grande and venti would be Italian words and ventiTM would mean nothing rather than being the beginning of an 800 calorie drink order. We really should not go there. It's better to order the tall coffee black with two extra shots (more of that unitelligible lexicon) with room.

All of this is going on in the cafe -- as I reel from the strange dreams I had last night. I was the star of some obscure screen chase scene which involved a sophisticated James Bond style hit, complete with special flying rideable objects, and a chance to meet an tremendously asshole version of Tom Cruise, all backed up with a cowboy junkies soundtrack, all of which I wrote in my sleep. It seems to have taken place in a post Rita New Orleans -- with the final scenes taking place in a newly rebuilt floating city -- perhaps on lake Ponchantrain. Our star screams "I'm free," as he falls over backwards into the abyss.

So I am thinking ... as I grab my coffee, that I want to photograph the Cowboy Junkies when they are here in Phoenix -- and that I want to negotiate their album deal with the beautiful people.


(Michael Timmins)

Murder tonight in the trailer park
Mrs. Annabelle Evans found
with her throat cut after dark
Her pockets turned inside out
her dresser drawers turned upside down
Anna's neighbour, Peg, identifies the body
lets out a hollow kind of sound

Homicide is tying yellow ribbons
around her silver Airstream
Red cherries slashing up the night
cutting through that cordoned crime scene
There's been a murder
in the trailer park tonight

Murder tonight in the trailer park
Pack your things Ann Marie,
we're heading west
we're going to make a fresh start
I've been saving pennies,
been looking forward to this day
No time for questions are you coming
or are you going to stay?"
The Cowboy Junkies.

OK, maybe not then.

There is some evidence that the word ventiTM is indeed a registered trade mark of Starbucks.

Saturday, November 19, 2005

Cool shots of a hot deal

By my aquaintance Rob Cromar. This is the best of the best, fortunately Rob's home was spared. This was a brush fire in LA county.

I would be sane

Relative to this man. See.

It Sleeps 'til Noon

A bloody stain opens the sky with the wilderness pressed against it, tearing the day into being, It's the hour of the Pearl, the first of the day. The predative feast is ending, the first bird arrives at the feeder. Its a new day; yes, we made it through another night. Lights from the neighbor's truck breech the dawn, ok "everybody up." Grumble. It's chilly this morning and the coffee is good. I went out for coffee this morning, in the before dawn time. Down at the local cafe -- the cafe of the beautiful people -- the sports cars were out. Early morning Thunderbirds and Corvettes lining up to feast on the prey around or of the coffee -- then add me in my beat up truck. Hand me the paper sir. "Thank you." I guess not all of the predators are resting now.

A song about Tuesday morning creaks out of the radio -- "I admit there are times when I miss you, especially right now when I need someone to hold me, ... but there are some things that can never be forgiven." The rabbit and the doves feasting in the predawn light -- just a few feet from me -- I believe the rabbit is in the same pecking order as the doves. They seem to get along pretty well.

I daydream about sleeping till noon. It's hard to sleep till noon in the desert -- the workday is over by then. What I long for I can't describe -- it's not really sleeping till noon -- but rather the lazy morning shared. Alas. there was a girl at the Cafe yesterday -- I didn't actually meet her -- but there was something, a familiarity was there. That thing that promises to deliver emergency late night sex later. Or that lazy morning shared. I think I will make some coffee, and see just what shows up at the feeder.

Friday, November 18, 2005

Free From Impunity

Impunity ...
im·pu·ni·ty ( P ) Pronunciation Key (m-pyn-t)n. pl. im·pu·ni·ties
Exemption from punishment, penalty, or harm.
[Latin impnits, from impne, without punishment : in-, not; see in-1 + poena, penalty (from Greek poin. See kwei-1 in Indo-European Roots).]
from the American Heritage Dictionary -- thanks to

I have none actually. I want to talk about the people around me today. This morning. I can't actually. I can't mention the woman with tattoos who appears to no longer work here (we could call her "tattoo girl" if we were so inclined). Nor even mention the woman here that I would love to flirt with. I can't mention these people. Other people I work with and know will see this, and there will be consequences. They will know I am talking about them on my blog and I will be punished repeatedly.

The person sitting across from me is Ron Burgundy, Anchorman (you know -- he was also in that movie). I can talk about him, because he's not a real person, he's a Dilbertism. He's a wholly ficticious character (in this context) created by one of my co-workers through the simple act of adding a nameplate to an empty cube. His cube has gotten cleaned up -- his trash gets emptied (more frequently than mine, it seems) -- and an assortment of appropriate desktop items has shown up, including an "easy" button, calculator, glasses, etc. People are starting to ask for him. Apperently he already has some responsibilities.

Yesterday he actually showed up, laptop in hand, and sat down and did some work. We were all pretty surprised.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Sunday, November 13, 2005

Superstition Ridgeline

Saturday November 12, 2005, I am standing near the top of Superstition Mountain. Photo © Dale Perry 2005. All rights reserved.

Sunday, November 6, 2005

My Life's a Book

I took the book quiz over at Blue Pyramid. To wit:

You're Lolita!

by Vladimir Nabokov

Considered by most to be depraved and immoral, you are obsessed with
sex. What really tantalizes you is that which deviates from societal standards in every
way, though you admit that this probably isn't the best and you're not sure what causes
this desire. Nonetheless, you've done some pretty nefarious things in your life, and
probably gotten caught for them. The names have been changed, but the problems are real.
Please stay away from children.

Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Co-opted from here

Saturday, November 5, 2005

Rose's Blog

No Credentials

In the Translation

I found this article about my friend Josee Kamoun. There's more I could say ...

Basquiat Dismantled, or why I so like

Robert hughes at his best.

It's Wednesday Morning, August 10

In San Francisco -- They never call it "Frisco" -- you must know; it's the local code. Technically it's Saturday morning and I am reading the San Francisco Chronicle, drinking heavy swill from a sandblasted grand canyon discovery coffee cup. This is something I have done most Saturdays for most of my life. Except for the last year and a half. Today though, I am longing for the familiar faces that have fed me for most of my adult life.

The internet changes the way get the world, and I find that I am more in control. I have always enjoyed Adair Lara, so I set out to find what she has written lately. On an earlier day I would have went out and bought a copy of the chronicle and sat in my favorite local cafe, and leafed through it. Since she is not in it on Saturday, I would have been stuck with Jon Carroll, which would have been ok, but not what I wanted.

In looking up Adair Lara I found out that she is 51 and find myself daydreaming about dating her, since I now know what she looks like, and that she is basically my age, and probably helps to explain why her candid prose has resonated with me. Never mind that though, I am sure she is busy. In my search the most recent article I found was August 10, and it's a story about birdnesters (I never knew), and about a guy who got a restraining order for sneaking into his house to make his kids pancakes on a Saturday morning (I should try that). Birdnesters are folks that both move out and leave the kids in the house when they split. Nice idea.

I miss the pink section too. This leads me to take on Kenneth Baker's latest scribbling, which reminds that art is mostly a reference to other art these days. What could we possibly be as artists if not for Jasper Johns and Franz Kline giving us something to talk about. I'd like to hear Robert Hughes take on that, the thought of which leaves me thinking something like this (to quote Orwell): "You have to be an intellectual to believe such nonsense."

Living here in the desert has it's moments -- and Saturday morning is indeed one of them. The rabbits are nourising themselves on the flowers outside and the quail are eating rocks in their morning spot. Maybe I should make some art that isn't about Georgia O'Keefe. I think I will warm up my coffee first.

Friday, November 4, 2005

Move Day

Copyright 2005 Shawn Kielty, All rights reserved.
Copyright 2005 Shawn Kielty. All rights reservved.

Tortured Conceptual Postmodernist?

tortured conceptual artist
You are a Tortured Conceptual Artist. Your fellow
postmodernists call you an anachronism, but
you've never cared much about the opinions of
others. After all, most of them are far too
simple-minded to appreciate the nuances of your
work. They talk, while you are part of a lived

What kind of postmodernist are you!?
brought to you by Quizilla

Stolen from Not Exactly Rocket Science. I did, however, take the quiz to come to this result.

Your Junk

Follow these instructions to send your junk off to snail mail spammers. Freshly stolen from CalTechGirls post on GutRumbles

Thursday, November 3, 2005


I quit. July 17 2005. Mesa, AZ. I quit smoking. I have quit before. But this -- is different. I am inspired. And motivated. I quit to live. I quit because my daughter was coming to have a vacation with me. I quit because she hates it -- and she doesn't want to breathe it. I quit because she is right -- and because I care about her, and I care enough to want to live longer to enjoy her. The unprotected truth is that smoking kills people. It's killing my mother. And lung cancer alone will kill 140,000 smokers in America this year, and 3000,00 more from other smoking related illnesses ( I don't have any statistics for throat cancer, nouth cancers, or emphysema. I look at the side of the package -- and it says "smoking *may* cause birth defects" and it signed by the surgeon general of the United States.

I thought the surgeon general was probably a fairly bright person, Guess what -- probably not. Ok -- so you can use nicotine to kll bugs -- aphids for example. Make a solution out of water and a few cigarettes -- spray it on your roses - poooffft -- aphids die. Leave this out for your toddlers to drink -- they could die too. Why? Nicotine is a poison.

Let's go back to the Surgeon General. The cigarette package should say -- "This is a poison, do not drink swallow or eat these, or ingest the contents in any way, including smoking. If ingested seek immediate medical attention. Call 911." Anyone in their right mind knows today that smoking kills people, the people who smoke, and some people who don't. So -- what is the Surgeon General thinking?

Support our Troops

Have a look at this.

Shawn's garlic and hot pepper pasta

Jar of Classico pasta sauce
3 cheese tortellini
6 cloves Garlic
2 hot italian sausage
Bell pepper
1 small jalapeno chopped
parmesan cheese

Cook the crumbled sausage to brown while starting the water for the pasta. Start the sauce in a seperate sauce pan. Crush and chop the Garlic and chop the peppers and onion and add to the sausage after the sausage is brown. When the onions turn translucent turn the whole mess into the sauce. Add about 2 T of grated Parmesan to the sauce and pepper to taste. Add the pasta to the water after it boils and keep it at a rolling boil until it is al dente.

Combine the pasta and the sauce ont the plate and top with parmesan cheese. Enjoy with french bread.