Had a great weekend. I should be asleep now, but I had to get a little online time in. Anyway, Saturday I photographed Caro and Scott's wedding, and gave my monolight flash a real run for its money. Here are a few of the pictures:





Honestly, there are few ceremonies more beautiful than a handfasting. What a great way to symbolize a union.

---

Remember the girl I had coffee with a few weekends ago? You know, the one I met because she used to work at the WalMart photo desk, and couldn't think of a suitable nickname for here on the blog? I've decided to call her J Girl. Anyway, we met up again sunday to go shoot some photos, which I've posted immediately after this. She's got one helluva setup herself, with a million and one filters for her lens. Good stuff. Had a great time walking around and taking photos. Upon getting a little rumbly in the tummy, I suggested we get something to eat, so we went to Taco Bell. There, we got to talking about internet videos of people doing Jackass-like stunts and getting hurt. Turns out she's a big fan of Jackass, and suggested we go see Jackass 2.

Let me tell you, that movie is possible the most blatant endorsement of latent homosexuality I've ever seen. I love it! It's nothing but guys pulling their pants down, running around naked, jumping on each other, and shoving things up their asses. And all the high school guys in the audience laughed like crazy... they were totally digging it. Somehow, if it's Bam that's shoving a dildo you-know-where, then it's ok. He does have a cute butt.

---

I heard a political candidate on the radio tonight saying something about being against artificial birth control methods because they allow people to do whatever they want without having to face responsibility.

Funny, but I thought that being able to fuck whomever you want is part of that tiny little insignificant thing called 'American Liberty'. Say it along with me kiddies: "Ministry for the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice."

Am I the only one seriously disturbed by the fact that there are Americans who think the Taliban wouldn't have been such a bad thing if only their church was running it? Who are these people?? In doing a little googling, the Vatican condemns artificial birth control, but the majority of American Catholics are for it. The Southern Baptists are tacitly ok with it. Even the goddamned Christian Coalition only seems to be against the morning after pill (don't get me started on that).

Really, I guess it's only a small pocket of weirdos with no actual political clout to speak of. I'm just getting tired and a little cranky. Good night, and enjoy the photos below. :-)

Foot bridge, Aullwood Audubon Center, Englewood, Ohio. J Girl actually pointed this one out to me, so I have to give her credit for seeing the photo. :-) 

Experimenting with shallow depth of field. Aullwood Audubon Center, Englewood, Ohio. 

Aullwood Audubon Center, Englewood, Ohio. 

Friday's rain brought quite a bit of water (and spectators) to the Englewood Dam, just outside Englewood, Ohio. This dam is on the Sillwater River, and is one of many on this and the Great Miami River, constructed after the great flood of 1913. On the inlet side of the dam is the Englewood Metropark, and on the outlet side is the Aullwood Audubon Center. 

Englewood Dam outlet 

Englewood Dam, Audubon side. 

Rock texture on Audubon side of the dam. 

Englewood Metropark 

Englewood Metropark 

Englewood MetroPark 

Reservoir created by the Englewood Dam.  

Inlet of the Englewood Dam. Looks so tranquil in contrast to the raging water exiting the other side. And that girl is just sitting there on the edge. 

Ok, remember those whitewater-looking torrents of roiling water thundering out of the backside of the dam? Well, this is the inlet, and that same volume of water is swiftly passing just inches from this couple's feet. One slip, and that girl would be sucked in by the powerful current, powerless to fight it. I was standing there having a fucking heart attack watching her inch closer and closer ot the brink of the concrete. 

At the inlet of the dam. 

This has been the week from hell. I mean, straight from the ninth circle, man. Chipotle's upped my hours, so I have three long days a week now, and I've been worrying about financial troubles, as well as getting all of my school work done. As a result, I've been having bouts of insomnia, where I lay down to sleep and my heart starts doing flipflops in my chest. This has kept me up at least two nights this week. I've taken that nervous energy to knock out writing assignments in the middle of the night, but then I'm a total wreck the next day from lack of sleep. Tuesday night they sent me home a half-hour early from work to get some sleep because Rose, one of my managers, said that I looked completely stoned.

Don't worry, today I felt a little weary, but made it through the day with enough energy and in good spirits.

In good news, I'm kicking ass in Photoshop 2 and English. We had our peer reviews today on the rough draft of our 2nd paper, and essay on remembering an event. I wrote about the sorority photo shoot, so I'll not re-post the story, as I posted my first paper. Suffice to say, as papers were passed around from student to student, it's frightening how many people in college have no idea how to differentiate between 'your' and 'you're', or what punctuation is.

Oh! I forgot to mention... got my first paycheck from the sports photography. It was an entire $30 (hey, lunch and a tank of gas. no complaints from me), but the customer was super happy with the quality of my photos, and said he'd tell the other team parents to check my stuff out.

A little back story:

Last thursday, Angela asks if I want to hang out at Avalanche with her after work, and meet her friend Liz. I say sure. There I meet Liz (delightful person), and a little bit later, her fiance Mark shows up. We get to chitchatting, photography gets brought up, and Mark mentions he's in a local band, and does their photography as well. He just bought a new Konica-Minolta, and can't figure out just how to use it to get good photos. So he invites Angela and I to the Tipp City Eagles for their show saturday night, and offers to pay me to show him how to use his new camera.

So saturday I spend all day shooting peewee football, and then head straight to the show from there. Since he plays harmonica, he's not on stage all the time, and in between his songs, I give him a crash course in Photography 101. Essentially, while his camera is a great point-n-shoot with a nice powerful zoom and lots of controls, it just wasn't suited for low light pictures like he wanted. So I grab the trusty Nikon from the car and start shooting. Here's one of him that he went nuts over when I showed him on the camera's LCD screen:



I don't know how it is where you're from, but around here, there's a ton of members-only fraternal clubs with names like Elks, Moose, Redmen, Eagles, etc. They're all populated by the 40 and up couples crowd, and have bars with cheap drinks. So I'm enjoying $1.50 beers, and Mark is buying me as many as he can as well. I joke that the Eagles is a great place, but I'm the only single person there. He laughs in agreement.

Having taken about 120 or so photos, I sit back down. A deliciously curvy and pretty lady with a figure very similar to Dark Haired Girl's is sitting at our table, and some annoying drunk guy keeps hitting on her. She keeps glancing to me and I smile and roll my eyes in sympathy. I've been looking at her all night, but haven't had the balls to say anything. When the annoying guy backs off, I say to her (despite the ring on her finger), "Well, while drunk guys are blatantly hitting on you, hi, I'm Andy." We dance a few dances, fast and slow, and I ask about the ring. She says it's just black onyx. She's 42 (looks mid 30s) and divorced.

My eyebrows go up. You all know what a thing I have for milfs. ;-)

The couple she's with taps her on the shoulder and says they want to go to the Hot Air Balloon (a bar in Vandalia). Seizing the opportunity, I ask if she'd mind a tag-along. She smiles and says "sure."

More back story: a week ago I run into a hot girl I used to work with at Honda. She asked about Caroline, and I mention I've been divorced for a year now. She goes "Really? Well in that case, what are you doing tonight?" Long story short, I blew it by asking her what she was doing as well, but then not inviting myself to wherever it was she was going. Instead we just parted ways, and I go home feeling like a complete clod. Moral of the story: don't just smile and nod...invite yourself. Lesson learned, and put into use.

Back to the Hot Air Balloon... we have a great time singing karaoke, and the other couple leaves. Eagles Girl and I walk out to her car, and she asks me for my story. I tell her it's too long to tell standing in a cold windy parking lot. I ask if she would mind me following her home, and again, she smiles and says ok. Then she asks for a kiss before we leave.

Without too much detail, we end up at her place here in Troy, and talk about our lives for a half hour or so. Then nature took its course, and let's just say that while the foreplay was intense and slow, it took it's sweet time building up to an explosion of bodice-ripping sex on the dining room floor, with articles of clothing and underwear strewn about her dining room, dinner table, and curio desk.

Afterward, we stay up talking until 4am, and then decide to go to bed. We sleep till around 10, and wake up to another round of bedframe-pounding-the-wall sex. She suddenly starts feeling hangover-ish, and decides to lay down again. We talk for about another hour, and end up curling up asleep until 2 in the afternoon. We trade phone numbers and email addresses, and make plans to meet up again.

---

So... how was your weekend?

Andy Van Gogh

At the end of the quarter in my "Today's Artistic Society" class, we're going to have to make acrylic paintings on an 11x14 canvas. Last quarter's class is hanging up in the gallery, and while some paintings are actually quite accomplished, others looked like the painter didn't know which end of the brush to sharpen to draw with.

I would be one of those people when our turn comes up to paint.

So in an effort to save dignity (and impress the ladies, you know me), I went out and bought a cheap set of brushes, little plastic pallette, and a tube of black acrylic paint. I want to get a feel for how the paint acts in different dilutions, and with different brushes. So I come home and experiment. Five different shaped brushes and at least fifty chicken scratches and doodles later (as well as attempts at calligraphy), and I have this mess of a test page that actually looks kinda cool as a whole:



So I made a painting. Yay me! And yes, the cat in the corner has a big ol' eyebrow. Hey, it's my painting. I'll put eyebrows on my cats if I darn well feel like it! :-)

The sports photography gig is going well. Lee is pleased as punch with me, and I'll be making my first sales next week. A lady was making a list of photos of her kid that I took last weekend, but doesn't want to finalize her order until she sees what I do this weekend. So here's to hoping...

Aside from that, this quarter has me busy four days a week, and I'm a little freaked out, but in a good way. :-) Never a dull moment.

Hey guys! I made the most amazing discovery today at work. See, I don't make a lot of eye contact. Usually, my eyes tend to settle on people's lips as they speak, and normally I have to intentionally make myself look people in the eye when talking to them. Well today at work, in order to try to get more tips in the jar, I forced myself to make more than glancing eye contact.

Then, the most amazing thing happened. When I held womens' gazes for the entire length of the phrase "Would you like anything to drink, or any chips and salsa?", most of them started smiling and acting shy. Some even blushed. I must admit, after the first few times, I spent the entire afternoon trying this out, and I felt like I'd just developed some new superpower or something. I can make women smile. This is unheard of.

---

So there's this regular. I usually see her late in the monday lunch rush getting her usual chicken burrito just about every week. She comes in wearing colorful nurses' scrubs, usually in some whimsical cartoon character or floral pattern. She's perfectly thick and stunningly gorgeous. Well, today I locked eyes with her, and immediately my face felt like it caught fire. It's a short transaction to cash somebody out, but I tripped over my tongue twice, and then gave her back the exact cash amount of her total, rather than the change. I totally lost it. After she walked off, Matt (esteemed colleague, and expert burrito roller) looked over at me and said "Jesus, Hutch! Your face is bright freakin red."

The line at Chipotle is a non-ending parade of insanely hot women, from 20-something University of Dayton students to 40- and 50-something porn quality MILFs, but this nurse girl is the only one that leaves me feeling giggly and half stoned.

So my first writing assignment in English II is to write a descrptive paper, and this is my rough draft:

I can already hear Billy Joel playing on the jukebox as I step out of my car. Hang out at the L&V enough nights, and you’ll come to realize that any visit lasting three or more hours will guarantee you’ll hear “Piano Man” at least twice each evening. Six nights a week. I can only guess how many times that the bartender is forced to choke down that godforsaken song each and every night.

Walking the half block or so from where I’ve parked, I pass the Chinese restaurant two doors down from The Leaf. The owner is locking up for the night, and the odd thump-tap-thump-tap of my uneven gait on the concrete sidewalk with my hard rubber boot soles catches his attention. He looks up, almost startled, but I give him the subtle downward head nod between unacquainted men that says “I’m cool, dude. I’m cool.” He nods back, wearily flashing that all too familiar contrived smile that people whose occupation it is to serve other people must wear, to the point of producing it even off the clock. “How ya doin’?” I say. I’m not asking. It’s not a question. It’s a pleasantry, and I neither expect nor receive an answer, save for a strong whiff of soy, ginger, grease, and sweat.

It’s a hot night, moist, but just below the point of feeling heavy. The county courthouse across the street still has their fountains running. They’re not exactly spectacular, but on this particular night the water seems so inviting, shooting straight up in wide jets and breaking apart at their peak, the droplets splattering in a misty spray off the tops of old stone remnants of long since demolished buildings. Walking on to the L&V, I look down Main Street to the city Square. The larger, more wedding cake-like fountain, the hundreds of tiny streams arcing into the center. Submerged lights alternate the water’s color from red, to yellow, to green. The colors don’t flash by quickly, and neither do they blend gracefully. Instead, they hang on for about fifteen seconds each before abruptly transitioning to the next as though being turned on and off like house lights by a wall switch. By this time of night, the traffic lights around the Square have ceased regular functioning, and begun their staccato yellow blink, neither stopping nor allowing traffic, but simply stating “Watch out.”

As I walk up to L&V's door, the ever more audible “Piano Man” continues: “And the waitress is practicing politics as the businessmen slowly get stoned. Yes, they’re sharing a drink they call loneliness, but it’s better than drinking alone...” Looking in through the glass-walled front of the bar to check out the clientele before entering, I spot and wave to the bartender at her usual perch at the back end of the bar. Every patron’s face is familiar. I’ll have to go through the usual pleasantries of shaking hands and saying Hello, donning the contrived smile I wear in the face of customers at my fast food job, before I can sit down and drink in my loneliness.

I have to admit, though, it would be nice to share it. Instead, I take my first swig from the bottle of Coors Light that the bartender, without asking, knows to place in front of me. As I place the cold glass bottle to my lips, I close my eyes and audibly sigh in relief at the first sip of the sparkling, bitter, earthy, and ice cold beer. Savouring the welcome ale, I wonder to myself how else there is to drink, but by oneself.

I hate mondays.

Ok, so today I worked from 9am to 4pm. (that's 0900 to 1600 for you 24-hour types) Then, I had class from 5 to 6:30. Then, monday night job #2, which lasted until right about 11. Good God, I'm exhausted.

But I did manage to go to a party tonight. Yay! Long story that's really kinda boring, considering I just spent the last ten minutes typing it out only to realize that it was totally dry information leading up to it. But there I was, in a guy I only kinda know's house, belly full of Awful Waffle hash browns, and taken there by Ruben (Zen Master and all-around swell guy). I had already achieved my "happy place" buzz at the Avalanche and then come down, so the free beer in the fridge really didn't faze me. Once you come off a beer buzz, there's no going back. Anyway, it was nice. There were really drunk people there, a few cute girls, and laid-back chitchat with a punk music CD for a backdrop.

I started to chat with one girl, but a tattoo artist with craploads of piercings and dragon tattoos, proudly showing off pictures of his adorable daughter, and who was a former Marine sent on missions shrouded in secrecy, chimed in. He was a nice guy, but I just can't compete with a cock block like that. Soon, he had every girl in the room entranced with tales of heroism under enemy fire and cell phone camera pictures of his little girl. Fucker.

I was too giddy to care about that. I was at a party, man! That kind of thing doesn't happen every day. :-)

No lascivious tales of drunken debauchery to tell, aside from the host's cute wife wearing low rise jeans and no underwear, which resulted in the majority of her full moon showing as she sat cross-legged on the floor. ;-)

---

Had my first class of the new quarter today, History of Photography. The instructor had actually come in to Chipotle for lunch earlier in the day and I was on cash, so I recognized her. She's a real free-form kind of teacher, and having new students in the class and three quarters under my belt, I'm finally adopting a slightly senior posture there at OIP&T, BS-ing with the instructors a little more boldly. This one's going to be fun. :-) In three hours I need to get up to go to Photoshop II, instructed by my buddy, Todd. This quarter is going to rock triumphantly.

Oh. Holy. Fuck.

I hurt so bad today. It hurts from my neck to my ankles, and every joint and muscle in between. My neck hurts from suspending with a strap from my neck a camera, lens, and monopod which totalled roughly the weight of a gallon jug of milk. That shit hurts after nine hours. Then my shoulders ache from hand holding the apparatus most of the day (the monopod came into the picture for added camera stability after sundown). My ankles hurt from the constant flexing, and because I wore my combat boots. My knees feel bruised from the constant dropping onto them. My face, kissed by the sun, feels like sandpaper. But most of all, my inner thighs and gluteus maximus are the sorest, and are stiffer than treated hardwood lumber.

To top it off, I shot a soccer game this afternoon as well. Oh, the humanity! At least I only took three gigs' worth of photos. I lumbered around the field perimeter like an 80 year old man, squatting with audible agonized groans every time I needed to take a shot.

Photography is most certainly NOT for the faint of heart.

And I'm so proud of these aches... to me they're battle scars, earned valiantly. Last night, I thought to myself "Today very well might be the first day of my entire career." I'm seriously stressing because I have my next quarter which starts tomorrow (actually, today, since it's 12:44am now), Chipotle, Stillwater, and now sports shoots (and the many hours of post production spent sifting through the images) to all juggle. I looked at myself in the mirror earlier tonight, and said aloud, "Welcome to the professional world."

---

I'm listening to the radio through headphones, and Evanescence's "Call Me When You're Sober" just finished. What is it about that little giggle from Amy Lee at the very end that is totally not appropriate for the song, yet makes me want to spontaneously orgasm? I'm so totally in love with her voice.



I think it's the freckles. I'm a total sucker for freckles. And Chickpea. And the purple-eyed albino women that freak Chickpea out, yet entice me so. :-)

'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all

So I'm listening to another generically un-catchy song on the radio, but am struck by the the line which titles this post. It's funny, because I was on my way home from having stopped by L&V after work.

There's a band performing made up of a guy on acoustic guitar and a guy singing. You can always tell the musicians' girlfriends either by their over-exuberance at the performance, or because they're the only woman in the place sitting by themselves. Tonight, there was this blisteringly hot woman enthusiastically dancing and clapping to the show. Figured she was just part of the band's entourage. After the show was over, the singer walked over to the bar and was standing next to where I was perched, and ordered a shot. The avid fan walked over to him and purred "Hi, I'm so-and-so." To which he (very Rico Suavely, I might add) replied "Well, hello. I'm so-and-so. Let me buy you a shot."

I had just finished joking to some out-of-towners who were complaining about the lack of women that there were no involuntarily single women in Troy between the ages of 16 and 50. I looked over to my friend Ash (whom I've recently befriended at The Leaf, story for later), and said "Jesus, those two are totally going to hook up tonight. That's it, I gotta get the hell out of here."

And yet, I realized that I was perversely comforted by the feelings induced by watching guys around me hook up, but not me. It's because I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all, and pain is comfortable. It's like a warm blanket protecting me from the cold feeling of feeling nothing.

Sophie once said I was a "sensation seeker". She noticed I always had to be fidgeting with something textured, rubbing it over the palms of my hands, or which stimulated other senses like brightly colored things or noise makers. She could immobilize me with neck and back rubs, digging her fingertips deep into my muscles. I always have to be feeling something.

And so I create drama to feel pain. I fear numbness, as I fear living death. And so I make big drama-queenish deals about situations to myself, and make specific points to notice every woman wherever I am, and the guy she's talking to, just to ensure that I have some spiky texture to rub myself with from the inside. Just to make sure I'm not feeling nothing.

And as continue making mountains out of molehills, all the while I'm sporting a monster hickey on my neck. Right front-and-center on my adam's apple, no less. But that's another story... ;-)

Today, pee-wee football. Tomorrow, Sports Illustrated.

This bites. I'm really neither lonely nor particularly horny. But damn if I wouldn't enjoy kissing a woman right now. Ugh.

---

This doesn't bite. Actually, this anti-bites. I just hooked up with a local sports photographer, and I'm getting together with him Saturday afternoon to shoot a football game. He's lending me his nice professional Canon to use, and if he likes what I shoot, he'll give me 100% of the profit that the sales of my photos make. He says that this he's swamped with more demand for pictures of kids' athletics than he could possibly keep up with.

Read: Troy is a bottomless pit of year-round photographic opportunity. It's a photographer's all-you-can-eat buffet. He's willing to take me under his wing, let me drop his company name freely, and use his gear. And on top of it, he's just the nicest guy you'll ever meet.

Looks like I'm actually gonna have to start giving a damn about sports. :-)

Troy, Ohio. Urban landscape after rain. These three are the other favorites that I forgot to post with the others last night. They can be found just below 'mingle' and 'Dad update' posts. 

Troy, Ohio. Urban landscape after rain. 

Troy, Ohio. Urban landscape after rain. 

mingle, verb

1. to become mixed, blended, or united.

Ok, college guys: enough with the t-shirts that read "Single...wanna mingle?" Nobody ever uses the word 'mingle', spoken or written, except for the sole purpose and instance of rhyming it with 'single'. It's right up there in the pantheon of generic and nerve-gratingly overused rhyme schemes such as the "love / dove / above" and "life / wife / strife" bonbons that country and pop music lyricists can't seem to get enough of.

IT'S NOT CLEVER.

---

I have no idea why this should bother me so much, but it just makes me want to scream.

"Oh God, another 'single/mingle' shirt!!"

Dad update: Discharged yesterday with just about every issue taken care of, so he's happy. He was worried that his kidneys were failing, or that maybe he had congestive heart failure, but the tests indicate nothing of the sort. It's all pretty simple stuff, and he's home. Happy and healthy.

Met up with... oh, hell. I can't think of a proper pseudonym for her. Met up today with the girl I met up with. That'll have to do for now. We had a lovely chat over coffee, and she showed me some of her photos, with were mostly wonderful black and white nature shots. She being a photography enthusiast, I offered to give her the grand tour of OIP&T. Afterward, I showed her one of my favorite photo spots, the venerable Patterson Memorial. Dropped her off afterward. A good time was had by all. :-)

All that talk put me in the mood to shoot, so I went out after all the rain stopped, and shot some nice rainy urban landscape stuff. Crap. I just realized a few didn't get converted. Oh well, I'll post them later. (and for dial-up's sake, I had to squish these down to very pixellated and poor quality):

Unusual mushroom-like cloud. Luckily from where I stood, backing off to 28mm just perfectly filled the frame. 

Troy, Ohio. Urban landscape after rain. 

Taggart's, Troy, Ohio. I love this photo, it's so warm and inviting, like some little restaurant in New York's East Village or something. 

Ginko leaf, Troy, Ohio. 

Troy, Ohio, looking down W. Main St. from the square. Old school readers may remember photos of the Masonic Temple a while back, which makes an appearance in the upper right corner of this photo.