... something that does not belong.Go ahead. Take your time.
In the meantime, I'll mention how this illustration was inspired by a number of people's work, chief among them the geometric wiz-work of vector-strator Von Glitschka, the equally intricate and jigsaw stylings of Michelle White (aka rottentuna) – and finally, for his own quite-fine vector work and penchant for random shouts of "underpants!" on the HOW Design Forum (and possibly elsewhere), the talented Nathan Santistevan at Doggydoodle. I myself don't dabble in the world of vectors that often, but there was definitely something in the direction this one-time pencil sketch was going that lent itself to an attempt.So, figured it out yet?
Regardless, below is a view at some of the detail – but be sure to click here for a full-blown view of the whole deal. It's worth it for this one to see it bigger.
This image I've searched out for Photo Friday's current theme of heat is from an interesting time and place. Manitoba is not known for unrelenting heat, even though it's a region of extremes – and at times in the summer it can be quite sweltering. But this picture is from a different time of year, my favourite time of any year – a rare, hot, dry day in September, this one in 2004 to be exact. I'm not certain what kind of flower this is to be blooming so late, but this is the Spirit Sands in Manitoba's Spruce Woods Provincial Park, a unique relic left over from the Ice Age (listen to me, I sound like the brochure here). It may not have even been that hot that day, I can't remember, but I still like the illusion it provides. This also happened to be the day my niece was born, which just made for a great day all around.
Click here for a better look, if'n yer interested.
Top row (left to right): Underwood typewriter in Sunday's newfound "spring-ahead" evening light; Kerry's on the ball. Middle row (left to right): Shelley Marshall singing at the CD release concert for Nathan's Key Principles; coaster pattern; Keri Latimer on the theramin, also of Nathan. Bottom row (left to right): a whole lotta good fortune; cookies that are not as yummy as you would think.My friend Allan occasionally spouts what he refers to as a "photo backlog" on his Flickr base. In a sense, that's kind of what this is – unclassified photos of all makes and models from the past couple of weeks. There's a tease of spring outside; on Sunday I tested my bike in anticipation, and even as I type this I have one eye on the window watching the icicles disappear and puddles grow. And I suppose it's one reason I can't concentrate on creative ventures these last few days.
Hit the links in the captions above for better views of the photos already posted over on Flickr.
About the cookies: these were an unexpected gift in the mail from my friend Maria in Arizona. I bugged her for cookies on and off for some time; these are what I got (they came complete with a plush carton of milk – no foolin'). Kerry and I ended up using them as ornaments on our Christmas tree, and I can safely say they'll be on future trees for years to come.
Storytime, as inspired by Photo Friday's current theme of alone: this is a composite photo, stitched and seamed together in Photoshop from two side-by-side snapshots. The place is Mt. Edith Cavell, in Jasper National Park, taken in May 2004. Kerry went on a week-long work-related trip to Québec, so I ventured out on my own, taking my bike with me on the train to Alberta and beating the Rocky Mountain tourist rush by a couple of weeks. I would spend my days there with no real schedule, riding the trails and highways and seeing what I could see.
On this day, the weather was good and I rode out of town early in the morning. At the park gate, a warden told me the steep, switchbacking road to Edith Cavell was still closed for the season. At road's end in the higher altitudes, everything was still winter and snowbound. Out of sight though, I would lift the bike over the barrier and continue on.
I'm a prairie boy, I won't lie: the road defeated me in minutes. The nagging, constant climb forced me off the bike, but knowing it would (or rather, should) level off within a few kilometres, I began to walk. It was sunny and warm. I had nowhere to be. And I had all day, with no one around to prove my lack of prowess when it came to hills. Following a couple of hours like this, the road did reason with me and I began to ride again. Until I reached the snow line, and then I was back on foot (OK, by this point you can call me a fairweather rider).
The narrow, winding road ran about 20 kilometres to its destination at the foot of one of the country's most popular and picturesque sights (Google it, you'll find many a postcard). On this day though, I was the only person for miles. And when the road became too slippery to even bother with the bike, I left it and carried on, shouting occasionally for bears and what-not else. Nobody knew I was there, and it was deathly quiet.
After what seemed an eternity, the mountain's famous face finally came into view. I may have been only a couple of kilometres from the base, but it was near that point that I sensed the weather turning. Clouds began to boil over the peak, and it smelled of snow. I wanted so badly to make it to the end, but my conscience – and lack of decent clothes – told me otherwise. I took this photo, and headed back to where I dumped the bike. From there, I received my reward: 15 kilometres, downhill. What ended up taking me three and a half hours to reach from the road's barricaded entrance (fine, including a lunch break) lasted a considerably more enjoyable 35 minutes in return.
Click here for a better look at the photo.
