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Reading

The Curiously Local Blog
No deadlines, but I usually write a short piece for the blog every few days. I look for things which feel, well, curiously local. Stuff that plucks at my shirt sleeve. Occasionally I'll do a review of an article or book I'm reading. When a blog gets unruly, I let it puff up into an essay. If unruly friends send me good pieces, I don't pay a dime but will be posting them. If I continue to be prideful of something I wrote, it enjoys an afterlife as a favorite post. In 2014 my original blog site got hacked, so I burned it down but saved a lot of good stuff from the ashes in the archives, which will eventually end up on this site.

Watching

I was smitten 50 years ago with a lust to put frames around what I saw after my dad taught me about photography and movies and showed me how to wind film onto a tank reel in the dark, Selecting and finishing pix into galleries is slow work, so there's not much here yet. Before I could talk or walk I watched. The world was blurry at first, but even when it came into focus in the first few months of my life, a lot of it didn't make sense. Still doesn't. So I keep watching.

Eating

For now, nothing on the plate, though much on the table. Growing food, storing it, cooking it and sharing the labor, the knowledge and the fun of it takes a large chunk of my time and energy. Here's a taste of my garden on my youtube channel. However, this Eating section is fallow for the next few months while I finish a long-delayed movie project called The Root of Food.

& Anything else

Or nothing else, for the time being. Nothing but a curiously loco placeholder.
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Today's Blog
AirBNB Bookcase: Mi libro es su libro
"…So last week we found ourselves renting an AirBNB room in an elderly three story house in Ithaca, NY owned by a couple in their 30s. Other inhabitants included a pair of large painted turtles in an indoor pond and a white bull terrier sporting a dark grey waistcoat snoozing on the couch in front of the fireplace. A windup Victrola stood to one side of the room, waiting to be fed from a couple of wooden boxes crammed with 78s…"
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