Sunday, March 25, 2012
Wet-wading on March 23. Very unusual. If we don't get about two straight weeks of nice steady rain we're going to be looking at drought conditions by the end of June. No snow pack at all. Nothing.
Wachocastinook (aka Riga) Brook, using a L'il Streamer 5 1/2 foot, 5 weight rod designed for squirrelly streams.
Note bow-and-arrow casting technique. It's a great way to get a fly stuck in your thumb.
Shot by Mark Niedhammer from the Selleck Hill bridge.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Thursday, March 8, 2012
A guy told me once, after maybe one too many cocktails, that he believed "the Internet hasn't made anybody's life better."
The remark stuck with me.
In the first instance, how is it that the junior high students are looking at porn? Any porn? I mean, it's not like they are 50 year old bachelors, stuck in the boonies, bored out of their minds, and...
The conspiracy guy posts nutty comments on political websites. If you click his user name this blog appears. Is he insane? Is it a clever sendup? If so, a sendup of what?
And why am I even asking these questions? I could be exercising, or reading Thackeray. (I don't know why I picked Thackeray. He is on my list of Important Authors I Will Never Read.)
Anyway, the Internet is bad and evil. There — I said it.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
The problem with the Emanuelle softcore flicks is that there are a lot of them, and depending on how they spell the E-name they are either stylized smut movies with good production values and an inordinate amount of time devoted to people talking about sex, or they are horrible smut movies with zero production values and a less ordinate amount of time devoted to people talking about sex.
Erotic Daughters of Emmanuelle (1974) is in the second category. A Nobel Prize-winning scientist goes semi-berserk after an encounter with a maid who is kind enough to wear nothing but a pleasant expression, and he uses the Nobel cash to buy himself a chunk of France and invite all his pervert pals to come over, drink a little vino, ride the horses, and go scrumping.
The exciting thing about this flick is that nothing makes any sense, except the scrumping. And even that is semi-dubious.
Supposedly John Holmes is in this somewhere, but I fell asleep about halfway through and didn't bother to go back.
I've seen sexier sneaker ads. Avoid.