With the aid of my trusty stepfather Chuck, I installed an air conditioner in my bedroom window. This presents many problems, leading this to be the first summer since my divorce and subsequent move back into Mom and Chuck's, that the unit has graced my sill since the late 90's. For starters, I have one of those windows that slides side-to-side. Therefore, I had to grab a tape measure and scientifically guesstimate the size of the hole that needed filling (stop giggling!) and go to Lowe's and buy a treated plywood board. Well, after a good long afternoon's struggle that involved me climbing a ladder to the garage roof outside my bedroom window, and Mr. Chuck entering my greatly embarrassing disaster area of a bedroom, we managed to vaguely wedge in the air conditioner and WELL out of proportion board.

It is now no longer hotter than the ninth circle of hell in my bedroom, although it remains as unsightly.

Well, it's getting hotter. See, this house was constructed with materials and electrics that I can only describe as shoddy, at best. God bless the thankfully out of business Federal Pacific and their pieces-of-shit breaker panels. This from a former (briefly, in the early 2000's) electrician's apprentice.

So I have to turn it off to run the computer, lest I overload the notoriously "no trip" breakers and either trip the damned thing well prematurely, as was the norm back in the day, or else spark a towering inferno causing me to have to jump out of the house in my birthday pajamas.

And the last thing this neighborhood needs is a 285 lb naked guy running around.

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I don't think I've told you yet.... I'm teaching myself Spanish. I'd been wanting to continue learning since working at Chipotle and picking up healthy-sized bits and pieces of it from the Mexican workers. Now, you have no idea the resistance and even subtle hostility I have received from people for this. One glance at me with a Spanish Basics book, and on several occasions I have been greeted right of the bat with a terse "They should learn English."

Gotta love small-town midwest Ohio. Anyhoo, I actually can think of a whole host of good reasons for this:

1) I'm jealous as hell of people who can speak more than one language.

2) I'm fucking sick and tired of obsessing over photography. My brain needs something else to chew on, and this new hobby is a God-blessed relief. I picked up a Spanish-language edition of People Magazine, and with the help of online dictionaries learned that Maybelline's new mascara brush will give your eyelashes the boldest look, as luscious as patent leather. You learn something new everyday.

3) It's actually very therapeutic. The self-discipline and the openness to learn that it requires has improved my mental sharpness, and has greatly extended my short term memory span to just slightly longer than that of a goldfish.

4) The Latina women at La Raza, a Hispanic grocery store here in Troy with attached foodservice trailer, are hotter than hell. ...and now I have an excuse to flirt with them aside from just stopping by for lunch. I do recommend, though, the chicken burritos and the tacos with chorizo-beef combination. Cilantro, queso, sour cream, a generous splash of their homemade hot sauce, and a squeeze of fresh lime juice. ¡Damn!

5) From a business standpoint, whether with my own photography, at Liz's studio, or even at Wally World, I want to be able to provide customer service to Hispanic customers who may not be quite fluent in English.

6) Since I volunteer my photography for the United Way, I thought it would be nice to also be able to volunteer my time at their HelpLink hotline once I become somewhat fluent.

7) There is an ever increasing Hispanic and Spanish-speaking population here, due to the transient workers who pass through this area, as well as the many new citizens. Yes, they should learn English. English is a beautiful and vibrant language. But I'm not going to be a total dickhead like everybody else and stand here all stubborn with my arms crossed expecting them to linguistically come to me. At Chipotle, each of the immigrant citizens were in their own personal phases of learning English... some like Fabiola took to it readily and went from basic vocabulary to fully conversational in less than a year. Some like Nallely struggled with its intricacies. English is a difficult language, and I felt irresponsible for not being able to meet them halfway. Latino immigrants are an invaluable (and permanent) part of America's ever changing cultural landscape. It's unforgivably ignorant, and just plain wrong not to be able to both teach and also learn from them.

I'm sure that any number of things I just said could be construed as politically incorrect or even offensive, but fuck it. You all know I speak from an honest (albeit characteristically naive) place in the spirit of brotherhood and good will. I'm not on some crackpot crusade to "save the poor Mexicans". I just want to embrace the new facet of America, hopefully make some new friends, and have fun in the process. :-)

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I have to be up at 3 to make doughnuts, and I'm late getting to bed.

Buenas noches, y sueños dulces mis amigos.

Fifteen Hundred blog posts, and not one mulberry to speak of.

Of course, I'm absolutely sure that you, dear reader, upon first glance at the above map said to yourself "Self, that is undoubtedly a political map of Europe in the year 1500."

And bien sûr, you are correct. I'm proud of you. "But why?", you may be asking yourself.

Well... as I logged onto Blogger, I noticed the dashboard statistic stating that as of my last post, I had written 1,499 blog entries. So here we are. 'TREASURES' POST ONE THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED!!

Seriously. Have I nothing better to do with my time?

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I have noticed a disturbing trend in the evolution of the English language. Before, it was the gross abuse of the word "literally", as in those irritating motherfuckers who literally use the word literally in, like literally, every goddamn sentence.

This blight has begun to wane. I am pleased. But, as Kathleen Turner said in 'Romancing the Stone' "... but bastards have brothers who seem to ride on forever."

The phrase in question: "At the end of the day"

I mean, seriously! Listen to NPR. This toxic virus of an idiom has infected English speakers everywhere, from China to America to India to Iraq to South Africa. More often than not, twice in one sentence!!

OMG, it was such a wonderful way of stating a summary... a boiling down of nonsense into a simple continuum... but it's been thoroughly abused ad-fucking-nauseum!

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It has been brought to my attention that on a recent road trip involving Dark Haired Girl, Blonde Haired Girl, and their late teenage daughters, that a particular game was played whereby the participants in turn add one word upon another to form sentences. It was also brought to my attention that subjects of said game (played in a car full of bored women) were almost exclusively of an, *ahem* adult nature...

... often (but thankfully not centering around) the topic of my less-than-impressively-sized member. Most men would freak out and start begging the nearest plastic surgeon for possible options, but I actually am kind of ok with this. See... I once found a dusty long-expired condom in one of Dark Haired Girl's junk baskets. It was a Trojan Magnum...

X L

I unwrapped the damned thing and rolled it over my hand and forearm, nearly half way to my elbow. Upon interrogating Dark Haired Girl on this, she stated to me flatly that before I was in the picture, just about every guy she'd been with was Magnum XL-sized.

Any normal man would freak the hell out at that point, but not I.

Instead, I realized that I am a dorky white guy of statistically average size (yes, I've measured and researched), and yet have managed to satiate and otherwise blow the mind of a woman who has had chewed up and spit out other men with dicks enormous enough to make a porn star blush with envy. And Blonde Haired Girl jumped to my defense with just that reasoning during the story game.

You tell me that isn't one HELL of an ego booster for I, your friend and humble stud muffin.

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On a more sensitive note, there has been a baby robin living in the vicinity of my back patio. I first saw it in a tree, and got a wonderful closeup photo of it. Just a few days ago, it was perched on the patio railing. Again I grabbed the camera as Momma Robin was nearby with a mulberry in her beak, and I stood perfectly still so as not to spook her, and to take pictures as she hopped closer and fed her baby the berry. Then, only two days ago, it was perched on the bird bath. As Shaggy and I walked by only inches away, the little avian bambino just watched us walk past, and then looked up at me and opened its bright yellow mouth as if to say, "Well, don't just stand there. Feed me something."

I have to say, its trust in me was deeply moving. I felt really guilty for not having any treat to give.

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Uh-oh. Lightning. Time to log off and unplug the computer.

G'night.

Nikon, NASCAR, Rush Limbaugh, and Darth Vader...

I just finished watching the NBC special on a day in the life of the Obama White House, and I have to say it was a fantastic PR piece. Not like I needed it. Just the other day the President was on NPR and I realized just how comforted I was by his voice. I used to claim that hearing Dubya annoyed me, but not until recently, within this new Barack context, have I grasped the full extent of the emotional distress that the mere sound of the prior President's prattle invoked. I now fully admit that listening to President Bush speak was about as agonizing as being anally impaled by a rod of splintered balsa wood.*

While we're on the topic of politics, I would appreciate if Mr. Limbaugh would either run for office or shut the fuck up. Of course, he'll do neither. There's far more financial gain to be had in hiding behind his "e-i-b golden microphone" than there is in any congressional lobbyist handout(s). Much like Barack, I take Rush (and all the other famous talking heads, Dem or GOP) like a WWE wrestler. It's all an act, and they all have their little testosterone soap opera parts to play. Of course he doesn't really possess the courage of his convictions. But hey, that's the beauty of capitalism, and part of me has to admire his hustle. There's always a Darth Vader-esque Yang to the fairer Yin. Oh well. C'est le capitalisme Américaine.

One thing about the Barack TV special, though: Throughout, to accentuate the energy and hipsterness of his 20something west wing staff pool, they repeatedly played an upbeat and catchy disco-like bit of pop music... which just happened to be the intro to The Ting Tings' breakup anthem "Shut Up and Let Me Go".

Hmm...

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There was also a commercial for NASCAR depicting an automobile race with the sound of thundering horse hooves. That's all well and good, except that I seriously doubt that when a stock car blows a tire, they put it to death. Fucking Kentucky Derby.

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Liz had me follow her on a location portrait shoot today, and gave me her second camera with which to shoot alongside her. You have no idea how wonderful it felt to hold in my hands and operate a premium Nikon D2x camera. Recently, I (your friend and humble narrator) have to admit to a sense of losing that lovin feeling with regards to photography. I just don't have the oomph that I once did to take pictures of the random crap surrounding me here in Podunk Ohio. Perhaps because I now have a deep seated grasp and understanding of the once esoteric principles of composition, light, color, exposure, depth of field, etc., the fascination is lost on me. There's no mystery.

I dunno.

But today was an amazingly liberating experience... a catharsis, if you will. To work with Liz creating her (and now, my) brand of high-end professional portraiture is to take every bit of my valuable experience gained at Woodard in Cleveland, strip away all of the cookie-cutter-picture-factory rules, rigidity, regulation, and otherwise bullshit that they leveled on me stifling my creative process, and let her Nikon sing in my OIP trained hands as a violin in the caress of a Juilliard-disciplined musician.

(Oh, the drama!)

We, dear readers... you and I... are on the ground level of something big. I can feel it.

:-)

___

* 1000 bonus points (and a congratulatory "shame on you") to whomever can identify the artist and song title of the preceding reference.