It’s Friday in America: a good day for some Tim McGraw. The line in this song about not seeing the Braves play a game all year made me almost choke on coffee (from unexpected lolz) just now.
#tbt to the time when I was fifteen or sixteen (c. 2003-2004) and printed out a tiny image of this album cover on a piece of white paper using the printer in my mom’s office and took it with me to the Regis Salon in the mall and pointed to it and told the hairdresser I wanted that haircut.
This is still my favorite album ever.
A Haflinger horse at Panmure Head Lighthouse, Panmure Island, Canada.
Reblogging my own post from 2012 in memory of writer Thomas Berger, who died earlier this month at the age of eighty-nine. I’ve only read two of his many books - the great and poignant shaggy dog Western Little Big Man and the proto-Coens-esque Depression-era comedy Sneaky People - but I enjoyed the hell out of both of them and am surprised at how strongly I reacted to hearing of his death this morning.
"So I, Jack Crabbe, was a Cheyenne warrior. Had made my kill with bow and arrow. Been scalped and healed with hocus-pocus. Had an ancient savage who couldn’t talk English for my Pa, and a fat brown woman for my Ma, and for a brother a fellow whose face I hardly ever saw for clay or paint. Lived in a skin tent and ate puppy dog. God, it was strange."
- from Little Big Man by Thomas Berger, Dial Press, 1964
I ain’t no cowboy but I will take this time to say that the only make of pants I’ve bought since I was sixteen/seventeen is Wrangler’s Wrancher Dress Jean, seen here. They are the perfect pant for all seasons. I refuse to consider owning any other.
Blue Bell Inc, 1986