SNYDERMANIA: Jan 31, 2010

Sunday, January 31, 2010

Going Bananas on Mill Avenue

The yellow one was with the Justice League on Mill Avenue.
Here's of a shot of the big yellow guy making his presence known to Clif the Lawyer.

Clif the Lawyer likes a good time just as much as the next guy. But the banana just wouldn't leave him alone. Big Yellow actually caused Clif to miss a nice bus shot. But did Clif lose his cool? Heck no, Clif the Lawyer's got enough patience to be a doctor.

Here's the the banana with four runners warming up for the P.F. Chang's Marathon.

One of the girls shouted in a German accent, "HEY, WHY ARE YOU PHOTOGRAPHING A BANANA?"

To which I adeptly replied, "I, I DON'T HAVE THE SLIGHTEST IDEA!"

The big guy looms high above Mill Avenue in the high rise parking garage with Clif, Rick and Casey.

Here I am trying to get artsy with the banana and a windo reflection shot. Looks like I'm all about bananas and reflection shots.

The big banana didn' make it to the end of the shoot. I got hungry. There will be other bananas and other shoots.

NORTHERN EXPOSURE

Goethe's final words: "More light." Ever since we crawled out of that primordial slime, that's been our unifying cry: "More light." Sunlight. Torchlight. Candlight. Neon. Incandescent. Lights that banish the darkness from our caves, to illuminate our roads, the insides of our refrigerators. Big floods for the night games at Soldier's field. Little tiny flashlight for those books we read under the covers when we're supposed to be asleep. Light is more than watts and footcandles. Light is metaphor. Thy word is a lamp unto my feet. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom Lead Thou me on! The night is dark, and I am far from home- Lead Thou me on! Arise, shine, for thy light has come. Light is knowledge. Light is life. Light is light.

FIELD OF DREAMS

Well, you know I... I never got to bat in the major leagues. I would have liked to have had that chance. Just once. To stare down a big league pitcher. To stare him down, and just as he goes into his windup, wink. Make him think you know something he doesn't. That's what I wish for. Chance to squint at a sky so blue that it hurts your eyes just to look at it. To feel the tingling in your arm as you connect with the ball. To run the bases - stretch a double into a triple, and flop face-first into third, wrap your arms around the bag. That's my wish, Ray Kinsella. That's my wish. And is there enough magic out there in the moonlight to make this dream come true?