Paleo Retiree writes:
This young lady was walking along the sidewalk in front of me … Her sundress was hiking up … Does my snap of her qualify as a Creepshot?
Some arguments pro and con, or so it seems to me:
- Yes, it’s a Creepshot. I did sneak my snapshot off, and I have posted the photo online. None of that needed to happen. Plus: cute butt.
- No, it’s not a Creepshot. It genuinely wasn’t lust that motivated me to take the snap. Candid in-public photography has been considered legit for, like, forever. You can’t see the woman’s face, so what harm is done? And in a world where 250 million photos are uploaded to Facebook alone every day, how likely is it that she’s ever going to run across this photo anyway?
Blowhard, Esq. writes:
Cinque Terre, Italy
Click on the image to enlarge.
Paleo Retiree writes:
One of the big pleasures for me of spending a lot of time in SoCal is the availability of cherimoyas, a fruit that looks like a hand grenade, whose flesh tastes like mango-pineapple-vanilla custard, and that was once described by Mark Twain as “the most delicious fruit known to men.” I never run across cherimoyas in NYC, but at the local farmers market out here the other day a least six vendors were selling the fruit. Two things to know about cherimoyas: they don’t travel easily (which helps explain why they’re hard to find, as well as why they’ve never caught on with the large public in the way that, say, papayas and Kiwi fruit have); and, when they’re ripe, dig in pronto. They only stay in their optimum eating state for a day or two.
- Everything you might want to know about cherimoyas.
- More, from someone who’s as enthusiastic about the fruit as I am.
- We especially like the cherimoyas from this grower. Who’s, OK, also sort of a family friend.
- Here’s a good LA Times article that features a visit with the family’s patriarch. Why hasn’t anyone made an epic film about a cherimoya dynasty? P.T. Anderson, I’m looking at you.
- Don’t forget to visit our Tumblr blog, where we share some of the lewd and crazy things that stir our libidos. NSFW to the maxxx.
Eddie Pensier writes:
Today I met frequent UR commenter Tex for a walk along the High Line, the elevated-railroad-track-turned-public-park that runs for a mile through the southwest end of Manhattan.
Discussions of the virtues of the park itself are probably best left to my colleagues who are more well-versed in such matters. What makes the High Line fun for me? The first word gives a clue: it’s high. Ten stories up gives a great vantage point to observe the wonders of Manhattan and the teeming life contained therein. Frequent benches and lookout points invite reflection, picture-taking, and just watching people go by. (The High Line should not be confused with the Hi-Life, where reflection of an altogether different sort has been known to occur.)
Besides the train tracks and the plants (all “native” and “indigenous”, we are assured), one feature that Tex and I noticed was the slightly elevated ridges of concrete from which grass sprouts, placed at the angles in the walkway. I’m sure there is some Very Important Reason for these to exist, but their main purpose seemed to be to get in my way and cause me to stumble every ten steps.
It also, regrettably, gives you a view of some OMG FUGLY buildings nearby. The presence of the High Line has made the far-west bits of Chelsea and the Meatpacking District more attractive to developers and potential residents, the result being some of the blights I took snaps of below the break. I started photographing at 23rd Street and walked downtown: if you know the names of these buildings or their architects, leave a comment so we can assign proper