Sue recently forwarded the URL to this fascinating and extraordinarily courageous blog that features the very personal photographs of women who have elected to share images of their postpartum bodies. As a society, we need to see these images much more often.

http://shapeofamother.blogspot.com/

Often the legend which surrounds a pop-culture icon is far greater than the actual achievements of the individual. This cultural myth-making is readily apparent in the legend of ex-Pink Floyd frontman Syd Barrett, who died recently. Below is a news snippett I gleaned off the web:

"Syd Barrett, erstwhile original frontman of prog-rock behemoths Pink Floyd, died aged 60 last Friday at his hideaway in Cambridgeshire, The Guardian are reporting.

The iconic figure - who joined Pink Floyd in 1965 only to leave three years later - suffered from diabetes, and it is thought that complications relating to this condition finally put paid to what had often been a strange and tormented life.

Although he didn't perform as a part of Pink Floyd after his 1968 departure, and effectively contributed to only one album (The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn), Barrett - born Roger Keith Barrett - enjoyed limited solo success, and his former bandmates' 'Shine On You Crazy Diamond', a live favourite, was penned as an eulogy to him. "

Poor, mad reclusive Syd. Was it the toxic combination of fame & drugs that caused his fragile artist's mind to splinter? Perhaps Barrett was just another victim of the excesses of the late 60's.

Traditionally, humanity loves stories of fallen heroes. The brilliant rising star who overextends himself and ultimately plummets to the earth, Icarus-style. Frankly, these stories always seemed a bit smug to me.

Tonight, I commemorate Mr. Barrett in these bloggish pages. Oh sure, he only contributed to one-and-a-half Pink Floyd albums before he went completely la-la, but his story and legend are truly compelling. I did, in fact, own a vinyl copy of Barrett's solo double album 'The Madcap Laughs'. He was a crazy ol' fuck, but I dug him.


Here's wishing you a safety passage into the great beyond, Syd. Seething wet we meet in fleck.* Pass the bong, please.

*lyrics from Syd Barrett song "Rats"

Two weekends ago, the Linton-Martin clan primped, preened and then trotted off to have the first of -- what will undoubtedly prove to be -- many professionally photographed family portraits. Thanks to the tireless efforts of friend and photographer Lauren, the experience was not quite as painful as anticipated. Needless to say, Ridley completely stole the show.

In keeping with the whole kitsch tradition of posing naked babies on bearskin rugs, we arranged for a few candid barenaked photos. Note Ridley's expression of utter surprise in the photo above. Did the sudden appearance of the camera surprise him? Did he inadvertently sit on something pointy? We'll likely never know.

Here's another cute barenaked shot. Baby beefcake. The bumps, bruises, scratches and scrapes on Ridley's knees and legs speak volumes about the rambunctious nature of toddlerhood.

There were a few good shots of the three of us -- a difficult feat indeed! Here's a fun action shot of Richard hoisting Ridley aloft for a succession of shots. Fatherhood .. it's a real workout.






And lastly, a decent photo of Richard & I. Can you tell that we don't like to have our picture taken? I do happen to like this shot, though it does verge dangerously close to American Gothic. All we need's the pitchfork.