Today I learned about VPW. Public Television in Winnipeg in the the 1980's. Here's a sample:
The Cosmopolitans
Nifty Natalie
The Ruffled Panties
alien invasions
ice-berg lettuce
avant-garde
Watch Winnipeg Babysitter to find the archive of VPW by Daniel Burrow.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Cold, Cold, Nudists
from the hotel lobby to the car was just about enough of the flash freezing i'd care for.
every mile we distanced ourselves from Gallup the temperature would rise by a degree or so.
purposely stayed on the scenic routes, tired of the monotony of flat interstates flayed out and unsurprising, as your destination is usually visible hundreds of flat miles away. Peacefully vacant roads. Went to Acoma Pueblo in some lowlands, badlands? The snow vanished and the sun was out, if I hadn't rolled down my window to get a feel for the air, I would have thought it to be a summer in the desert. At a viewpoint overlooking red rocks shooting up from the earth and the Pueblo site, signs told us: "No Camera (film and video) Recording Allowed."
Drove into the museum for the pueblo, $20 each! Nay, but what washroom facilities, I can see where the money is spent.
Took a wrong turn and ended up in a remote Native Reservation where even the adobes, built into the sides of huge bolting bright red mountains had eyes, and all were transfixed on us, getting the hell out.
Took another detour to Jemez Springs. A quaint village based around the several natural hot springs in the area. Spruce Springs, a free, untapped springs a short knee-high hike through the snow promised waters of 105F. Several intense nudists bathing in the steam, not very friendly, yet not very mean, as I begged to have their towel, as Caitlin and I had none. Ran through the snow back to the car in wet undies.
Drove through the mountains, a landscape that echoed notions of "home," to Santa Fe.
every mile we distanced ourselves from Gallup the temperature would rise by a degree or so.
purposely stayed on the scenic routes, tired of the monotony of flat interstates flayed out and unsurprising, as your destination is usually visible hundreds of flat miles away. Peacefully vacant roads. Went to Acoma Pueblo in some lowlands, badlands? The snow vanished and the sun was out, if I hadn't rolled down my window to get a feel for the air, I would have thought it to be a summer in the desert. At a viewpoint overlooking red rocks shooting up from the earth and the Pueblo site, signs told us: "No Camera (film and video) Recording Allowed."
Drove into the museum for the pueblo, $20 each! Nay, but what washroom facilities, I can see where the money is spent.
Took a wrong turn and ended up in a remote Native Reservation where even the adobes, built into the sides of huge bolting bright red mountains had eyes, and all were transfixed on us, getting the hell out.
Took another detour to Jemez Springs. A quaint village based around the several natural hot springs in the area. Spruce Springs, a free, untapped springs a short knee-high hike through the snow promised waters of 105F. Several intense nudists bathing in the steam, not very friendly, yet not very mean, as I begged to have their towel, as Caitlin and I had none. Ran through the snow back to the car in wet undies.
Drove through the mountains, a landscape that echoed notions of "home," to Santa Fe.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Cherry-eyed roaches
The sun arose, the color palette of this geography is unparalleled.
Old homes have screened-off porches and patios to keep night creatures away while victims of tuberculosis sleep outside, better for their lungs: this happened.
Back to an airport. A glass-fenced-off smoking room, a box of smoke, occasional glimpses of hands, cherried cigarettes through a cloud of swirling white and grays. Look out the window to the tarmac, a similar scene, blizzard. Will Caitlin land?
Walking the bitter-cold streets, Frontier Cafe, where spicy means spicy, four or five used napkins later. Hostel on route 66, the manager, an old, frizzy-haired lady, meanders and talks the speed of evolution, I watch the floor, two large cockroaches clamber out of the fireplace and march into the kitchen. Breakfast, we will have out. Our room, large, theme:sunflower, cacophonous radiator, a permanent kettle whistling and steaming.
To Gallup.
Checkpoint, Grants, NM. Sun and snow, bright-like the flash of a nuclear bomb, only 14F. A town with 3 stores, McDonalds, Sonic, and the Diner we chose. The heater was broken, truckers and small towners, knick-knacks: "Its hard to be optimistic when your "fat" pants are tight." Amazingly good coffee.
Gallup, route 66, the famous El Rancho Hotel, celebrities on their way to Hollywood would be seen here, or thats what they tell me. Our room, Lorraine Day. Car stuck in the snow, Red Rock Park. It took the two of us and four others in an oncoming car to get out of the snow, luckily they were there. New Years, walking in the cold, probably 8-10F, drudging through the snow finding a sort of downtown? Envelope with $300 was found and pocketed. Residential streets, silent, peaceful, the sweet smell of burning of pinon burrowing out of chimneys. New Years. The El Rancho bar, two other tables were occupied, one party of two Native Americans, and the other, the group that helped push our car out of the snow bank. They claim the El Rancho is typically the happening place in Gallup, where they are from, and could not gather why it was so dead. Last call was at 11pm. Champagne in Lorraine Day with the TV on, 2011.
Morning, awoke to the distant sound of a trombone. -5F, let me translate that, -22C. Now I have never experienced this, but while breathing my nose hairs froze.
Old homes have screened-off porches and patios to keep night creatures away while victims of tuberculosis sleep outside, better for their lungs: this happened.
Back to an airport. A glass-fenced-off smoking room, a box of smoke, occasional glimpses of hands, cherried cigarettes through a cloud of swirling white and grays. Look out the window to the tarmac, a similar scene, blizzard. Will Caitlin land?
Walking the bitter-cold streets, Frontier Cafe, where spicy means spicy, four or five used napkins later. Hostel on route 66, the manager, an old, frizzy-haired lady, meanders and talks the speed of evolution, I watch the floor, two large cockroaches clamber out of the fireplace and march into the kitchen. Breakfast, we will have out. Our room, large, theme:sunflower, cacophonous radiator, a permanent kettle whistling and steaming.
To Gallup.
Checkpoint, Grants, NM. Sun and snow, bright-like the flash of a nuclear bomb, only 14F. A town with 3 stores, McDonalds, Sonic, and the Diner we chose. The heater was broken, truckers and small towners, knick-knacks: "Its hard to be optimistic when your "fat" pants are tight." Amazingly good coffee.
Gallup, route 66, the famous El Rancho Hotel, celebrities on their way to Hollywood would be seen here, or thats what they tell me. Our room, Lorraine Day. Car stuck in the snow, Red Rock Park. It took the two of us and four others in an oncoming car to get out of the snow, luckily they were there. New Years, walking in the cold, probably 8-10F, drudging through the snow finding a sort of downtown? Envelope with $300 was found and pocketed. Residential streets, silent, peaceful, the sweet smell of burning of pinon burrowing out of chimneys. New Years. The El Rancho bar, two other tables were occupied, one party of two Native Americans, and the other, the group that helped push our car out of the snow bank. They claim the El Rancho is typically the happening place in Gallup, where they are from, and could not gather why it was so dead. Last call was at 11pm. Champagne in Lorraine Day with the TV on, 2011.
Morning, awoke to the distant sound of a trombone. -5F, let me translate that, -22C. Now I have never experienced this, but while breathing my nose hairs froze.
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