I've been going back through some photos I took in Germany last year. These are some that I kind of like.

Frank King is rightly famous for his classic autumn Sunday strips of Gasoline Alley. But with the first snow of the season falling here a couple days ago, I thought I'd post some of King's winter strips. As you can see Skeezix and crew were pretty avid skiers, sledders, etc.

These strips are from the mid-1930s. You can find more examples of Gasoline Alley at the I Love Comix Archive.
Simple question: who's the big mouth? Put your guesses in the comments section below.
I was able to get out to Bannack one last time while the weather was still pretty good, and took a bunch of photos (which was kind of the point of the visit). These were some of the ones that turned out pretty good, as I was mostly looking for interesting angles or details to shoot, like the doorway above.
This view from the front door back to the kitchen of one of the old houses was taken with the HDR feature of my camera. This setting actually takes three shots in quick succession, adjusting the exposure for each, then melding them together. This balances the lighting so that no part is too light or too dark. I like the effect of depth in this picture, which I think is accentuated by the balanced lighting.
Lots of old, broken wheels are scattered around the town, making nice subjects for a still-life.
In this shot of the hotel lobby, I liked the interplay of the geometric various shapes.
Bannack is often referred to as a ghost town, so I thought I'd throw in a spectral image from the old bar/barber shop (though I admit the effect would've been stronger if I'd been wearing a cowboy hat or a smock).
This past Saturday I was up in Helena and when I was about halfway there (it's a two-hour drive from Dillon) I realized that I'd be able to have lunch at Steve's Cafe. Some readers may recall that a couple months ago I had a stellar cup of soup at said establishment, so naturally I was all lit up with anticipation as I arrived in the capital. I had a couple of errands to run first, but by 11:30, I was ready for some soup and headed over to Steve's. When I arrived, however, I could not find a place to park-- the place was packed. Since it was still kind of early, and I had some other stops to make, I decided to come back. But, about ninety minutes later when I returned, the situation was the same-- in fact I could see several people outside waiting to be seated. Now, at this point I might have considered an alternative to lunch, but the memory of that previous visit (and the chunky tomato soup), not to mention the tacit endorsement of those crowds of Helenites waiting to get in, made me persistent. I decided to kill another half hour and try again. The third time proved to be the charm as I found both a parking spot and got seated right away. The soup of the day was Cream of Broccoli, and while I generally find that variety undeserving of excitement, there are occasional exceptions and I had high hopes for how it would be prepared at Steve's. Sad to say, aside from being particularly chunky with florets, it wasn't anything special. Certainly good, hot and filling, but flavor-wise pretty much what I normally expect from Cream of Broccoli soup. Which means that next time I'm in Helena, I'll go again to Steve's for lunch, but I probably won't make three trips if the place is packed the first time around. But maybe two.
"It is a law of nature we overlook, that intellectual versatility is the compensation for change, danger, and trouble. An animal perfectly in harmony with its environment is a perfect mechanism. Nature never appeals to intelligence until habit and instinct are useless. There is no intelligence where there is no change and no need of change. Only those animals partake of intelligence that have a huge variety of needs and dangers."
Someone did not want me to take their picture, and the question is, who? Who is hiding behind that hand (and I admit I blurred the image a bit to make it a little harder to tell)? Put your guesses in the comments section.
I don't know if there is anyone working in any branch of the arts right now who is better at evoking such a powerful, yearning nostalgia for the mundane than the cartoonist "Seth." To be clear, I don't mean to imply this is some kind of trick (artistic or otherwise) or that Seth has somehow exaggerated the ordinary to make you forget how insignificant it ultimately is. No, his particular genius is to quietly uncover and unleash the truly sublime nature of all the ephemera that colors our daily existence. In Clyde Fans, it's the routines and architecture of a small-scale industrial/commercial enterprise revolving around a slightly archaic product, tied closely to a mildly tragic family history; in George Sprott it's late-night local TV, and the quaint modernism of the medium's early days. In The Great Northern Brotherhood of Canadian Cartoonists, its the throw away literature of big little books, bubblegum wrappers and Saturday evening newspaper inserts-- along with lapsed rituals and again the singular architecture of half-forgotten spaces. Though it has no obvious similarity, reading this book took me back to the days when I went with my Dad to his work-- a small factory that my brother and I explored while waiting for Dad to complete whatever errand brought us there. The headquarters of the G.N.B. and C.C. hall in fictional Dominion looks nothing like Niagara Straw on the west side of Buffalo, but Seth's exploration of the former's nooks and crannies (mostly visually) strongly reminded me of poking around in the dark corners of the latter. Another off-the-wall connection I couldn't shake was to Jack Kerouac's On the Road, and feeling like Seth has totally embraced the notion that there are greater worlds of wonder in the smallest things we take for granted than in those that seem more consequential at any given moment-- something that I took from the Kerouac novel. Superficially, Seth hardly seems to fit the "beat" stereotype, even as his evident idiosyncrasy, as well as the presumed spontaneity of a work drawn from his sketchbooks, place him squarely in that tradition. What else can I say except that I really liked this book a lot, and look forward to rereading it-- which doesn't happen very often to me any more.
Considering the quote I posted awhile ago, I think it's save to say that the older denizens of Toonerville definitely have "different" pleasures.
"The complete life, the perfect pattern, includes old age as well as youth and maturity. The beauty of the morning and the radiance of noon are good, but it would be a very silly person who drew the curtains and turned on the light in order to shut out the tranquility of the evening. Old age has its pleasures, which, though different, are not less than the pleasures of youth."
To my mind George Clooney has established himself not only as a charismatic leading man but also as one of the most interesting directors working out of Hollywood today. That's why I had such high hopes for his latest effort, The Ides of March. On a number of levels, this is first-rate entertainment, with excellent performances across the board (Ryan Gosling, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Marisa Tomei, Paul Giamatti, Evan Rachel Wood, as well as Clooney in essentially a supporting role), and a tightly told story with a solid moral lesson at its core. Its the story of a presidential primary campaign and the compromises necessary (both personal and professional) to achieve the goal of electoral victory. Unfortunately most of the film's potential oomph (whether artistic or political) is largely deflated by unnecessary telegraphing of virtually every twist that occurs. Even worse than that (and I suspect this has its roots in the story's origin as a play-- where foreshadowing tragedy is practically an imperative), the early scenes define a clear consensus on the dynamics of politics which makes it impossible to imagine that the eventual fall is a surprise-- or of any real consequence-- to the characters in whose fate the audience is expected to invest our sympathies. One gets the feeling that this reflects Clooney's own sense that the battle for ethics in politics was long ago lost. Maybe the famous speech delivered by Ed Murrow (used as a framing device in Clooney's Good Night and Good Luck) represented a last chance to resist the turn towards cynicism; but we know that didn't happen, and the result is that the outcome of a film like The Ides of March sadly elicits little more than a shrug.
On past visits to Red Rocks Canyon outside of Las Vegas, it was hard to force my attention away from the mountains that dominate the landscape. But on a recent visit I decided to also take a look and snap some pictures of the other feature of that landscape-- the desert.
Of course the desert has it's own stark beauty, especially in contrast to the surrounding peaks and colorful rocks. Since I was also testing another new lens, it was fun to play around a bit with depth-of-field, integrating the foreground and background in different ways (as in the top two photos).
The last two pictures were more about capturing detail, contrasting rocks with flora. One thing is for certain: this was a radically different terrain/subject than the pictures I've been taking in recent weeks closer to home in the Pioneer Mountains and Big Hole Valley.