All it takes is some spaghetti western soundtrack woo-woo, and my eyes refocus to squint into the distance–which invariably becomes dry, dusty, prone to wavy mirages that look like tall trees or figures, and super far away. With mountains or buttes. Way off there. Way, way, way…way far away.
Whatever I’m dealing with at the moment shrinks to the size . . . → Read More: The World According to Bucko; or Cowboy Fact #23
I’ve been unwilling to saddle up the presidential cowboy analogies for some time–Dubya too easy of a target–but THANK ALL THAT IS COWPOKE for recent presidential candidate news.
Barack Obama resists the cowboy hat–all I can see him as is the lawyer/Dude from a big city, or maybe as a laid-back (yet pistol-packing) James Stewart in Destry Rides Again, . . . → Read More: Wanted: Cowboy Presidents 2008
A recent sojourn to Idaho revealed another essential cowboy truth–cowboys still exist. You just have to know where to look for them.
Oliver’s in Pocatello: Deep into a thick omelette and excellent coffee. Along the counter are seated several men, all with sneakers and jeans and polo shirts or button-down shirts and baseball caps (the new rancher/farmer . . . → Read More: Cowboy Fact #24; or, Yes, Virginia, There Still Are Cowboys
Idaho is more than potatoes, although they have damn good spuds.
It’s a rich and varied state, which is a polite way of saying it kicks the asses of popular vacation states. It has potato fields
and Sawtooth mountains overlooking ranchland.
It has lakes and ponderosa pines and Douglas firs and all sorts of things such as an . . . → Read More: My Public Idaho; or, Ida Hoes Very Well
One of my favorite lines is from the space western Star Wars, in which one of the pilots zeroes in on a tiny vulnerable point on the Death Star. Despite lasers and near-death experiences, the pilot keeps his cool with the mantra “stay on target…stay on target!” So, back from the land of spuds to deal . . . → Read More: Stay on Target….
I’ll let you know.
For a few days I’ll be on real trails, hunting down cowboys and cow patties, spuds and starlit nights, lava bombs and limpid lakes, and real live rigamorole. And when I am back, I will deal with the wackness that is the site. (Anyone notice the blessed space that appears and disappears on . . . → Read More: What Does Ida Hoe?
A pair of one hundred-year-old blue jeans, found in an abandoned gold mine in California? $36,099. The chance to touch or even *gulp* wear these worn Levis? Priceless.
But such is the glamour of honest toil. Denim designers must have been salivating at the sight of the old, ripped, stained, and soiled pants, because while no one . . . → Read More: Old Jeans Are a Gold Mine; or Cowboy Fact #25