Welcome Galloping Green and Dublin Ireland! Auvergne, France cruised by for a visit too -- that's Footsbarn's region. Milan Italy searched the archives for Trashtown, but that happened last winter in Amsterdam, Holland.
The rain continues, with snow in the higher altitudes. It was dark enough this morning to keep my speed low, in case the Deer ran in front of me. The Ducks are flocking together by the dozens on Middle Foy's Lake.

Footbarn's Celebration of Theatre: Theater X-Net

Starring: Ida Rubinstein Belle Epoch Russian/Parisian beauty.
Read more about Ida in Sisters of Salome by Toni Bentley

Visit: Michael's Montana Web Archive
Theater, Art, Flash Gordon, Funky Music and MORE!
NEW! Spitfires of the Spaceways
Watch Dale Arden rescue Flash Gordon for a change!

Charity Alert: Keep that resolution as Autumn rushes toward us! Click on The Hunger Site every day.

In The Community: I am ready to print the first edition of Masques On Parade -- my digital watercolor created from Footsbarn photos. It is due at the Hockaday Museum of Art next week for the Autumn Salon. We'll be having a reception for Ed Gilliland on Thursday September 21.

Media Watch: TV, or not TV,
-- that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them?
(Turn that damn TV thing OFF!)
-- To die, --to sleep, --No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to,--'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die,--to sleep;-- To sleep! perchance to dream:--ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause: there's the respect That makes calamity of so long life;
(Must of fallen asleep myself -- that guy's still droning on...)
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? who would these fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death,-- The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn No traveller returns,--puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; And enterprises of great pith and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action...

Aww -- Let's see Footsbarn in action instead:


Mad "Dr. Noillie" has big plans for Homo Haereticus in Footsbarn's play of the same name. Maybe she should consult with him FIRST! (Unh-uh, the play isn't named Dr. Noillie, and it doesn't have anything to do with Dr. No by Ian Fleming.) At the back; Left to Right: Dr. Josephine, Dr. Muriel, and Dr. Carol.