bigbonton

The episode in which we experience a Nashville afternoon.

Everyone looks, guys gaze at the girl, star-struck girls stare without shame at the black boots by the pool alongside everyone’s summer sweetheart of 2008.
Everyone wants her (if they can dream) or at least wants to experience her poolside manner. She relaxes while we get-down to the 6+ hour performance of a traveling German break-dance troop. Just kidding, the epic poolside performance was by my new mental mentor Jeffrey Steele, the 2007 BMI Songwriter of the Year.

You just can’t underestimate the amount of talent in this industry town of Nashville, Tennessee. Music City.

She’s no mess in a dress. She’s poised, perched with her man de jour. Is she prissy? Certains, un peu. Is she pristine? Elle ne l'est pas.
As for him, let’s just say that he’s such a capital “D” Dude that he is regarded as “most likely to cause a cat fight at his own funeral.” Mere mortal males can only aspire…

Ah youth! Wanting to be taken seriously. Such fervent feelings, running deep, as deep as their twenty or so years on planet earth can allow.
Black boots morph into flip-flops, even Croc-clogs. Luckily he can simply change shoes, but she’ll remain tagged as a Honky Tonk woman, inked for the life of her skin - which, thanks to poolside sunshine and gravity will retire and sag south. Explains the plethora of Nashville billboards for laser tattoo removal with taglines like “What Was I Thinking?” and “Things Change, So Can You.”

Before you rant back at me folks, you want ink? Get Inked!
While you’re reading, dig this: YOU KIDS! Stay off my Lawn! You call that music? And dress like you have some respect! Get a haircut! Or you with the buzz cut - let it grow out and part it on the side, be normal!

If anyone (any age) figures out what “normal” means, please advise because while in NashVegas I got clued in that “Things Change, So Can I,” and everyone wants so desperately to be normal... just a regular guy like the Songwriter of the Year and the Dude with the Tootsie with the Honky Tonkin’ ‘tude.
Don’t bury me ‘cause I ain’t dead yet.

Posted by bonton at 12:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Our Senior Wedding Correspondent reports from the chapel, square, and club:

Oh, the pageantry, the immensity of the spectacle.
Some hearts stood still, some hearts were a flutter, some were un-wowed - but all paused and pondered.

Overheard at the wedding:
Marriage is all about what a man puts into it and what a woman can get out of it.
 

The Vows.
This little girl has heard too many adults saying too many things that are not true.
She made it through the vows and was a good girl, doing what others wanted her to do.
Her reward? Dunno, but she made the deal so it must have been something she wanted.

The bride wore a high belted beaded orgazma dress, designed by Oscar de la Renter, the White House said.
I’d love to get a closer look at that bauble that bobbed from the necklace the bride wore (pearl? ice?), but I’m only interested while it’s around her luscious neck.
The attendant wore a cocktail dress the color of wildflowers, if wildflowers were that color, designed by Lela Rose. The women wore dresses. The men wore suits and ties.

Photo by the hidden camera of a bigbonton operative.

It was just a small wedding, just family and a few friends.
Oh! “Just a small” play on words, because after the small wedding came the royal reception!
“You are Invited to See and Be Seen at an Honest-to-Goodness Event!”

With the soundtrack provided by “Ten Bloody Marys & Ten How's Your Fathers,” everyone felt fitted-in, in the tent. Make that "tents", plural. Small wedding, mega-reception. “Just a few” is a shrewd saying when the guest list includes astronauts, regional monarchs, the finest silvery haloed and the utmost solid titans, no patience for non-special hangers-on, et certainement pas de bateau rockers. The fix was on, air was kissed, eyes were caught, and everyone left feeling puffed up.

.
.
.
A pole star is a visible star that is approximately aligned with the Earth's axis of rotation and so might be mistaken as the center of a facile pre-Copernicus universe. It may indicate a stable point of reference, useful in navigation, providing assurance of place until the next required fix.
And what a fix this pole star provided, when she used to rock and roll.
Here, Mrs. Star, the photo is months old, but these were for you:

. . . kiss kiss . . .

Posted by bonton at 5:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

It's going to be close, but in the home stretch of the year 2007,
little old bigbonton.org is on track to have been in front of one million sets of eyeballs in 2007.
Freaking unreal! I mean, Mais bien sûr! Maar natuurlijk! Aber natürlich!

While we are only counting those fans on Planet Earth,
we're getting the hits aplenty from Denmark, Norway, and Australia. The USA is coming in at #4 on the hits-o-meter.
Whatsa matter Yanks? Can’t read? Playing video games? Eating cheeseburgers and not reading bigbonton.org?
Well, we’re big in Denmark! So there. Go back to your Coca-Cola.

And, by the way, Denmark, …
H-E-L-L-O Denmark!
I’d like to visit. Crash on a few couches, meet the mayors, you know, visit the country.
I make a great guest. I know when to talk and when to listen. I am easy on the eyes and I smell good… well, wait, I don’t smell at all.
Invite me over for a sauna or whatever you folks do. We can be big in Denmark together!

I loves me that netweb! It got me connected to a million other humans in 2007. Wow!
With a lump in my throat, I say in my best Elvis-voice, “Thank you, thank you very much.”
And in the other (80's) Elvis voice, "What’s so funny 'bout peace love and understanding?"
El bigbonton-o is global and that's a good thing because bigbonton is too big for any one country.
Next conquest: Alpha Centauri, also known as Rigil Kentaurus.
It's the brightest star system in the southern constellation of Centaurus. But you knew that.
The Alpha Centaurians will join bigbonton.org in 2008!

Posted by bonton at 6:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

It started at the organization meeting with my buddy, the mad scientist wilderness outfitter.
Every autumn we make a hiking trip into the National Forest. We were organizing our packing assignments: you bring the water filter, I’ll bring the camp stove; you bring the bear bag, I’ll bring the hanging line and monkey fist (not to be confused with “the monkey paw”, that’s a whole ‘nother story, not sci-fi but macabre). I’m a real pack mule and don’t mind carrying weight. He is the opposite.

Mad scientist wilderness outfitter asks, “What if we could shrink down our gear so it was really really small, then it’d be so much lighter and we wouldn’t have to be backpacked beasts of burden?”

bb-burro replies, “Well, the food would be small so we’d have to bring so much more of it to fill us up that’d we’d just end up carrying the same amount anyway.”

Mad scientist wilderness outfitter asks, “What if we shrink ourselves when it’s time to eat, then we’d fill up on the tiny portions and it’d balance out.”

bb-burro replies, “Well, uh, hmm … I see what you mean! Teeny portions in tiny backpacks to fill-up infinitesimally small stomachs. Catching a little zzz’s in pocket-sized sleeping bags in baby tents! Great idea, let’s do it!”

And we did. And it worked.
Starting out, we strolled like slack-packers along the trail at our normal human size, never having to wonder if a matchbox would hold our clothes [blues song lyric reference]. It would and it did. I was light as a feather with a weeks worth of gear in my front pocket. He carried the shrinker contraption. Non-disclosure Agreements prevent me from revealing details on the device, but I can say that I got the better end of the deal, i.e.: it’s bigger than a matchbox. And heavier. But it was just a prototype – which he barely knew how to operate.

When the sun began dropping we shrank ourselves to match our mini-gear, made a roaring fire from the handful of twigs we’d gathered prior to reduction, and had a tiny good time being small.

There were bumps along the learning curve of shrinkabilityness.
Live and learn, for example: don’t let the mad scientist wilderness outfitter get into the flask of firewater prior to reduction. Somehow the proofiness of 80 proof hooch doesn’t lessen in proportion to the size of the shrink – i.e.: Mr. mad scientist wilderness outfitter got so loopy-crocked that he morphed from a mad scientist wilderness outfitter to a mad cow tour guide – the knucklehead pulled the trigger of the shrinker ray gizmo and aimed at me until I was on a fantastic voyage sans Raquel Welch [classic sci-fi film reference]. Using my compact camera and I got this photo of fungus spores that dropped beneath the mushroom cap shown in the top photo. Amazing sights, but I had to wait until mid-morning to return to normal.

We ate and drank well, carried little weight, wondered at the big world around us, and captured a tale or two for our next night around the teeny twiggy campfire. We were disciplined with the firewater so no one got blasted into inner space again. All in all, a fine and unnatural outing.

# # # End of the forest tale, back to reality # # #

Posted by bonton at 9:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

- extra - extra - read all about it!

bigbonton.org
Awarded a superlative vote of confidence
by an Eminent Consortium of Experts.

Reserve your upcoming copy today,
a sure fakie sell-out, a sure goofy sell out!
Especially in the big bigbonton fan-dom-lands like Sweden, Denmark, Australia, Hungary,
and even in the good ol' US of A.

bigbonton sezs "thank you for your faithful support".
ps:
Burton Snowboards!
Product placement?
or
baptismal name and/or surname (Burton) + verb?

hint:
yes, he does, or, umm, has . . . Double black diamonds . . .
Austrian Alps (death or glory). Italian Alps (purple sky). Slovakia (moguls + bohemia-surreal). Low Tatras (sans local currency yet avec mattresses). Sierras (NorCal, dude). Colorado Rockies (d*nm Texans broke my wrist in Rockie ego snow).

Posted by bonton at 9:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

He's kicking it old school with his Adidas.
An example of post-retro revivalism? Is he uber-retro?
A Run-DMC fanatic?
""we travel on gravel, dirt road or street
I wear my Adidas when I rock the beat
...
they're black and white, white with black stripe"" - (full lyrics below)

Even though he . . .
1) ... knows the name of zero Run DMC tunes (well, OK, he can recite an occasional tricky-tricky verse & refrain during superbly inspired moments),

2) ... hasn't bought a new pair of kicks in 20 years, with foresight he purchased thirty pair in 1981 and froze them in dry ice units at the Adidas Replacement of Archaic Inventory Storage Facility,

. . . this kid is somehow above messing with.

Click, yo, hold it now, hold it now ->

Continue reading "ol' three stripe" »

Posted by bonton at 6:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

a rare blooper that should have never been posted.
Shouldn't let it upset you, it's just shop talk at the blog studio.

... blog host: "Welcome! I keep a Movable Type travel and distraction blog to present myself to the world. Works great! Today we're testing how well 3-D backgrounds frame avatars on a Croc."

... blog host: [thinks he's offline] "Well that's another funktacular post. Yo, now we can get back to another week of supreme partying. [... to intern] Lil' dude-ette, ya think that deco background will work on the art school chicks?"

... Lil' dude-ette, the studio intern: "what-ev, who cares as long as they still click on the ads. Can I skip out a notch early? I have an appointment for those stubby fiberglass nails then my Shrink expects me to show for my weekly this time. Huh-kay, yay?"

... blog host: "Just make sure your parole officer doesn't come around here no more."

... Lil' dude-ette, the studio intern: "Shite, that was whack."

... blog host: "Whiggity Whack!"

... Lil' dude-ette, the studio intern: (rolling eyes) "Naw, regular type. Smell ya later"

... blog host: "OK bye."
... blog host: "OK, Computer!"

... Lil' dude-ette, the studio intern: [outside the studio] "GAAAHHH"

Posted by bonton at 9:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

The Gibbs Museum of Art, Charleston, SC.

A magnificent bust, non?
Oh! She eees too bee-yoo-tee-foo.

click photos to enlarge in new window

No Photography! - the sign said.
Lucky for us I cannot read.

Posted by bonton at 6:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

The temperature was the 70s, we went to the beach.
After a swim we sat.
It didn't take long to find entertainment using a fierce-looking shell in a tidal pool.

1st: Place a 250 million year old living fossil in plain site near a tourist walking area.
2nd: Sit back and watch the reactions as group after group see it near their bare feet.

Fun for hours!
Each group of beachcombers will think they've discovered the monster.

Continue reading "Sunday fun with a crab" »

Posted by bonton at 4:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by bonton at 1:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by bonton at 8:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by bonton at 5:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by bonton at 9:08 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by bonton at 3:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by bonton at 7:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by bonton at 2:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by bonton at 12:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by bonton at 9:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by bonton at 9:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Sounds critical to say "Primitive" Baptist but that's their name.
I think it refers to their belief in basic precepts, a simple core foundation on which to build a life.

Likely, the builders of this church appreciated their blessings more fully than modern man. Satisfaction of basic human needs comes very easily for us. Good water, fresh produce, a mule - a living tool, and the value in family and community.

Liberty Hill, Georgia is home to some of the most interesting music and most dynamic people the U. S. of A. has ever produced.

This country church sits beside a one-room schoolhouse where my Grandmother learned to read. Both buildings have a foundation of hand stacked rock columns and are now under the stewardship of families in the area, mostly my senior cousins.

In this cemetery rests many of my ancestors. They include
Southern Confederates, New World Colonists, and French Huguenots from the 1600s. Rural Georgia red mud farmers, itinerant musicians, salt of the earth American stock.

So this is an image of the distant future according to those folks.
I think they'd say the trees are bigger now.
We're living in the future!

Lest We Forget.

Posted by bonton at 3:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by bonton at 9:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by bonton at 4:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by bonton at 10:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by bonton at 10:08 AM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by bonton at 10:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by bonton at 8:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by bonton at 8:45 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by bonton at 4:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

(sampler)

Posted by bonton at 7:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

humor me, I'm not posting the full outhouse series!

Posted by bonton at 7:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Art is Art

Posted by bonton at 7:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

102 degrees for lap swimming, 109 for soaking.