Andy v2.0

2012-01-05T21:28:00.001-05:00

2012-01-01T03:00:00.000-05:00

Things have been coming to a head for a while now, and frankly, the old Andy has been pissing me off. I'm the type of person who can know one thing but not totally feel it, so often it takes reaching a boiling point for me to illicit change in myself. That point has been reached, and especially after this recent breakup, shit needs to change. No more whiny bitchy little Andy who can't stand it, and freaks the hell out when he doesn't have a girl to kiss. It's time to ditch that old attitude, and regain the comfort in my own skin that I seem to have have lost. So, as 2012 is three hours old, I declare the following resolution for the new year:

Grow the fuck up.

I'm trying, really.

2011-12-30T23:48:00.000-05:00

See, I can walk up to anybody and introduce myself. No problem. I did just that earlier tonight. After my friends had left the bar, I found the one unoccupied seat and plopped down next to a reasonably attractive young woman. She looked bored off her ass, so I said to her, "You look about as bored as I am." She said "Yeah, I kind of am." So I said "I hear ya. But I figured I'd rather stroll over and be bored here than bored at home." Before my wit could generate a snappy follow-up, she gave me an awkward chuckle and turned her back to me and her attention to the admittedly significantly better-looking "bro" types loudly inhabiting the end of the bar, high-fiving each other with their muscles and tight t-shirts.

My problem isn't initiating conversation. I can do that all day long. Where I choke is when it comes to plucking profound and intellectually stimulating conversation out of thin air to some total stranger that I don't even begin to know, within that five second window between "Ok, I'm listening." and "Ok, you're creepy."

You Can't Always Get What You Want

2011-12-30T00:06:00.001-05:00

... but if you try sometimes, well you just might find you get what you need.

Ok, so who remembers the show Northern Exposure? Remember Dr. Fleishman's Eskimo receptionist, Marilyn Whirlwind?

Adorable, isn't she? Anyhoo, as a budding young preteen/teen, her character always struck me with her wise and quiet simplicity, and the way that when she *did* speak, she stated exactly what she needed to, no more and no less. One episode struck little developing Andy quite profoundly, as she had gone missing, and everybody was panicking trying to find her. Eventually she was discovered... sitting on a bench at the zoo, enjoying a cone of vanilla soft serve, and contentedly watching the world go by. Immediately, I realized this was the way to be, this centered state of solitary bliss, savoring two of the world's simpler yet profound pleasures with a perceptual and spiritual depth that most others would simply not be sensitive enough to grasp.

Little Andy finally had a role model, and to this very day, a large portion of my adult personality is still based on her character's zen-like state of sage chill-outedness.

I've done a pretty good job of emulating Marilyn. Some of my most treasured life moments have been, and even still are spent, even if in a sea of strangers, otherwise completely alone. I used to love going to the movies and restaurants, and any number of other activities that most would consider unimaginable without a partner. They'd look at me like I grew another head when I'd tell of the things I'd done all by me onesy, and frankly, I'd look back at them in complete puzzlement as to why they were acting like I'd skinned a live kitten. I blissfully glide across the ice at Hobart Arena, surrounded by hundreds of people, as though I were the only one there.

Last night Jen and I officially called it "better off as just friends". Our relationship has never been better, and I'm closer to her than I've ever been. But I'm also more lonely than I've had to endure in a good while. And tonight, as Shaggy has found an amazing woman to spend time with, and thus has been less accessible to me, I found myself in a state where there were none to keep company with. And I kinda freaked out a little bit. I'd lost my inner Marilyn who would have reveled in "alone time".

So I meandered down to the L&V, my perennially favorite watering hole, expecting nobody to be there, but instead ended up striking up a conversation with someone visiting family for the holidays.

Turns out he has produced a calendar featuring photographs he has taken of traditional, romantic, and otherwise postcard moments... only interrupted by someone's dog squatting to poop in the foreground.

It was definitely an unusual conversation, and while I'd hoped to have my hollywood moment locking eyes with an unfamiliar yet fetching young lass from across the room, alas such was not meant to be. Instead, I spent the night happily chatting away with a kindred unusual artistic soul.

You meet the damnedest people in this town.

Cameron's House, part 2

2011-12-26T14:31:00.001-05:00

The infamous glass garage.

Cameron's House, part 1

2011-12-26T14:27:00.001-05:00

Outside Cameron's house from Ferris Bueller.

I'll vouch. It's pretty tall.

2011-12-24T16:19:00.001-05:00


			Me, outside of the Sears Tower (now the Willis Tower).

Yeahhhh.....

2011-12-18T18:05:00.002-05:00

Well... true to history, my relationship with my girlfriend is falling spectacularly to pieces. Jen and I make the best of friends, but the last four months have proven us the worst of lovers. We're on a "time out", and she's going to let me know if she still wants to be in a romance relationship after the holidays. Call me crazy, but I sense a big fat 'no' on the horizon.

We hung out the other night, and it was just like old times: two friends bullshitting, having many good laughs, and cracking dirty jokes like when we were in the bakery. She was as beautiful as ever, and I was dying to simply hold her hand, but I'm pretty sure that ship has sailed.

So here I sit in loverly limbo. Cupid's purgatory; neither here nor there. "In a Relationship", but lonely as all get out, and with no recourse to alleviate the loneliness but to brew a pot of coffee, surf the web for things that make me laugh, and wait patiently...

---

In the mean time, today the late afternoon sunlight was streaming in through my front studio room's windows, and cast a nice silhouette of my flash, stand, and umbrella onto the room divider:

There's been a slight uptick in photo gigs lately, and it's feeling pretty good to knock the rust off the ol' trigger finger. Did a great couple's shoot yesterday.

---

So now it's Sunday, 6pm, and I haven't done a damn thing productive today. Now THAT'S my kinda day. :-)

Not a Real Tree..

2011-12-13T22:27:00.001-05:00

... but an amazing soy substitute!

I love this damned "Motivator" app!

2011-12-13T22:15:00.001-05:00

No caption needed. :-)

Lasagna WIN

2011-12-12T19:36:00.001-05:00

Tell me that doesn't look perfect. A tiny bit runny in the middle, but freakin delicious!

Lasagna!

2011-12-12T17:42:00.001-05:00

Cheese filling and homemade meat sauce!

2011-12-12T14:33:00.002-05:00

It's unclogged!

UNCLOGGED!!!

So yeah, a second heapin' helpin' of the devil juice finally got my drain drainin' again. A pleasant side effect is that my kitchen sink now empties like a champ. Unfortunately, the little bit of acid that splashed in my tub and removed (quite effectively, I might add) a patch of soap scum revealed just how built-up it is in my tub. Egad.

Off to the store for some scrubbing bubbles and a stiff bristled brush.

Just a spoonful of acid makes the hair clog go down...

2011-12-10T23:02:00.001-05:00

My tub's drain has come to a damn near stand-still, so I buy this psychotically strong drain un-clogger. It's so corrosive that the bottle is sealed in a plastic bag. I also buy latex gloves up to my elbows. So I get home and pour half the bottle down the drain, and....

OH

HOLY

FUCK!!

This stuff is PUTRID. It's basically just sulfuric acid, heavy on the sulfur, and even heavier on the ASS-id. Immediately my entire apartment is filled with this near asphyxiatingly rancid smell of rotten eggs and DEATH, so while it's 20 degrees outside, I scramble, gasping, putting a fan exhausting air out my kitchen window and another in the front window pulling fresh outside air in.

I wait the requisite 15 minutes, gulp in a lungful of ice cold fresh air, and run to the bathroom and turn on the cold water.

It doesn't drain.

Screw this, I'm off to the bar.

Who was giving a hoot in hell?

2011-12-09T19:38:00.001-05:00

Seriously, what kid at the doctor's office is going to care?

Screen Door on a Submarine

2011-12-09T17:45:00.001-05:00

Because I shed like a golden retriever when I rinse my hair out, I bought one of those bathtub drain hair trap thingies. All well and good, except for the fact they made it out of material that fucking FLOATS in WATER.

Of Course

2011-12-09T13:59:00.001-05:00

Front Brakes: "So... I see it's Christmas time. Still have a lot of shopping to do?"
Me: "Yeah, still have a lot of things to buy for people."
Front Brakes: "Hehehehe, that's what you think.... GRRRRIIIINNNNDD!!"

Out of nowhere....

2011-12-08T20:53:00.001-05:00

... comes Evan trotting down the steps.

Evan: "Kate's lying!"
Kate: (from upstairs) "Evan's lying!!"
Me: "About what?"
Evan: "Nothing."

2011-12-06T21:02:00.001-05:00

That annoying Heineken guy is neither the Old Spice man nor The Most Interesting Man in the World.

Nice try. 'E' for effort.

Thank you T.G.I. Friday's

2011-12-06T20:10:00.000-05:00

"Gimme more Friday's"? Gimme more fries!

2 a.m.

2011-12-06T03:26:00.001-05:00

...at a steel plant in Cleveland, and I'm fuggin' tired.

2011-12-05T21:26:00.001-05:00

My girlfriend is going through a profound transition in her life, and she is making some incredibly hard decisions and difficult actions. This is a personal journey, and as much as I want to talk about it and walk beside her, this is something she must do on her own, and I need to be a silent support.

I just want her to know that I am really proud of her.

2011-12-05T15:50:00.001-05:00

My foot must be delicious, because I'm constantly jamming the fucker in my mouth.

To nut, or not to nut?

2011-12-05T13:07:00.001-05:00

The soap bars here at the hotel have a fine print disclaimer: "This product contains no nuts or nut". I'm wondering what the difference is. Like, is there a possible instance where one could say "Sure, it has nuts, but no nut."?

Saturday Night

2011-12-03T23:12:00.000-05:00

...in Troy, Ohio. Someone's tidy whiteys just laying randomly on the sidewalk. A good time is being had somewhere.

2011-12-03T21:10:00.001-05:00

Decided to go ice skating for the first time since my spill last January. Doubt I'll make the whole two hours... legs starting to burn. As expected, I'm in the vast minority of people here old enough to legally buy cigarettes.

Working on a knuckle boom lift.

2011-12-03T17:08:00.001-05:00

Just to give you an idea of what I've been doing lately. Namely, dangling 40 feet off the ground in a knuckle boom in a steel pickling plant in Cleveland.

2011-11-28T15:14:00.000-05:00

No, I really mean it. I'm done with Facebook. I'll keep the account up so I can visit and comment on Jen's page, but I'm done with either creating new posts on my own wall or reading the news feed. It's actually something that needed to happen. Too much of my social life had become wrapped up in a website, rather than actual socializing. The act of visiting a friend had deteriorated to a mere click of the "Like" button on something they'd written, just to acknowledge to them that I'm still aware they exist. That's no way to conduct a friendship.

Apparently, though, there is a handful of people who enjoy my WTF photos, absurd musings, and children-say-the-darndest-things moments. So fear not, dear readers, they shall continue. I will not go gently into that good night! It's time to screw Facebook and resurrect the blog. For too long it has lain dormant, and it's no coincidence that its hibernation began the second I got sucked into the FB black hole.

So here's a little exchange between Evan and I the other night...

Evan: Do you have any brothers?
Me: Yeah, I have one.
Evan: Is it Todd?
Me: No, Todd is just my best friend.
Evan: Why?
Me: I ask myself that same question every day.

2011-10-31T12:43:00.002-05:00

Well, hello there! Bet you thought I'd forgotten about you, didn't you? Well... busted. I did forget for a while, thanks to Facebook for providing me with all my post-and-comment jollies. But I'm back, and hopefully for good, because you just can't sit down and pour your heart out on FB like you can here, and I've been building up some serious steam since March.

The aforementioned PoF girl did in fact materialize into a relationship. This is no mystery to whomever may be reading this, because you're probably a FB friend anyway, but suffice to say it didn't last too long. There were certain fatal incompatibilities in our romance relationship styles that prevented a functioning boyfriend/girlfriend-ship. -ness. -hood. Whatever, you know what I'm trying to say.

BUT!

Last August I began dating Jen. No need to conceal the name this time. One quarter of the female population of midwestern Ohio is named Jen... followed by Sara(h), Crystal, and Angel. ANYHOO, I was a card-carrying member of her "friend zone", having met and become friends at the Walmart bakery. For about a year and a half, I nurtured her and let her cry on my shoulder when toolbag after toolbag treated her like dirt. Well, we began a fling after I'd broken up with the above mentioned PoF girl, and of all people, Dark Haired Girl sternly scolded me not to use her for just a fling like all the other guys I'd been consoling her from. So I took her advice and asked Jen to be my girlfriend.

Jen is a desirable girl. She's a sexy, bawdy, ballsy, take-charge-yet-vulnerable kinda girl. And she's beautiful. Oh my god, is she so freaking pretty! I'll admit it. I used to get on her FB page and stare at her photos before we dated. This also creates the situation that many men are also after her, and let's just say her past wasn't filled with well-intended Romeos like myself.

Long story short: she still has guys texting her constantly for sex. This doesn't bother me, I'm actually kind of smug in the fact that my woman is desired by so many men. But one in particular gets under my skin, so I decided to send him a message on FB. He seemed like an ok guy. Jen said he was really intelligent, and maybe that's why I perceive him as a threat. He's sneaky. He can use words to infect your brain like a hacker. But given that he's not just another Tipp-Troy-Piqua-Sidney corridor redneck, I thought maybe I could reach out to him with this message:

This is Jen's boyfriend. I'm not going to go all chest-beating alpha male on you or get bent out of shape... not my style. I want to handle this like an adult and to ask you, man to man, to not proposition my girlfriend for sex. It's cool if you want to talk to her, I keep in touch with my exes, but please do Jen the respect of keeping it on a friendly level. Thanks!

His reply: "Shut the fuck up." Then the coward blocked any responses. Then he sent her a text message bitching her out. Now I know, I know... I'm giving in to the dark side. A bigger man would just brush it off because really, why waste so much energy fretting over someone who means nothing to me, and has no bearing or effect on the outcome of my life? It's bringing worthless 90210 teenybopper drama onto myself. Still, I just can't shake this agitation. So I present to you my purgation. My catharsis:

Open Letter to the Person Harassing my Girlfriend

Why is it always the shit-smelling assholes like you that walk around calling all the good people of the world 'asshole' without provocation? My request that you stop propositioning my girlfriend for sex was mature, even-tempered, diplomatic, and non confrontational. But you had to pop off your childish retort like a 9 year old playground bully. It's time for you to run along now little boy, go grab your mommy's Victoria's Secret catalogue, and fuck yourself because my girlfriend is never going to again, no matter how much it's eating you alive that you can't have her. She's with me now, and she is a vibrant, sexy, wonderful, and incredibly intelligent woman who deserves for a man like me to treat her like a queen and give her the world, not to be gawked at like an inflatable fuck doll by some immature sniveling little needle-dick like you.

She chose me over you because I am man enough to step up to the plate and offer her what you are too chickenshit to: Heart. Soul. Security. Dignity. Respect. Affection. See, you're too stupid an imbecile to realize that women want more than cock, and so you just can't see what a girl would want in a guy like me. And that makes me vastly superior a human being you your slimy worthless ass.

I give you permission to call me an asshole now, because I'm fucking being one to you, and justifiably so. This time, I'm not asking... I'm TELLING YOU to leave my woman alone. Go slither to a bar and find a skank to use for some quick ass like all of your fellow garden-variety douchebags, you pathetic loser.

By the way, your cutsie little "Fight! Win! Prevail!" tagline doesn't make you sound tough. It makes you sound like a cheerleader. Go put on a skirt and get out of the way of the real men like me, you whiny little bitch.

Thank you for your time.

2011-03-26T23:47:00.001-05:00

Bought a box of condoms in November. Five months later I haven't used a single one. Threw them away tonight. Who needs them anyway?

2011-03-02T20:28:00.002-05:00

I have been on the dating website Plenty Of Fish since November, and I have seen a gazillion profiles. There are a million good looking women in the Dayton area, and quite a few are intelligent and say all the right things. I've messaged a few, even gone out on a date. But today I came across the profile of a girl here in Troy so perfect that it put a huge smile on my face, and filled me from the core, inside out with a glowing tickling sparkling warmth. I read and re-read her words over and over again. I kept alternating through her four photos, each one so beautiful that while looking at one, I grew impatient to see the other three.

And in the giddy fog of instant infatuation I thought to myself "I'm looking at the woman I am going to fall in love with. This woman and I have a future together. I will make it happen." And so I wrote to her:

You had me at "Staring up at the moon and knowing somewhere you might be doing the same thing." Honestly, I've read your profile a couple of times over, and I just love everything you have to say. I'm really having to resist just gushing. I really would like to start talking with you. :-)

And later she wrote back:

Hi there! =) First off, my name is [censored] and I am really glad you messaged me. I've also read your profile a few times and really like how honest and real you seem. Unfortunately those traits are so hard to find nowadays. So you seem like a breath of fresh air. =) So yes, I would love to get to know you. Hope to hear from you soon!

I know I'm being silly, but I have the most amazing feeling about this.

2011-02-07T22:13:00.000-05:00

I met Dark Haired Girl for lunch at Brixx down in Dayton today. We had our usual completely frank and uninhibited conversation. It felt like we hadn't talked in years. I told her my irrational worries about New Guy. Rationally, I know he's a total sweetheart, but much like the little dog from that insurance commercial who sleeps fitfully dreaming of his bone disappearing from the safety deposit box, I just had to hear from the source that all was well. She gave me quite a few examples of how he's been acting to her and her girls, and the things he's been doing around the house.

He's perfect.

---

The sexual tension between us was no secret. I told her, heart pounding, that I was ready to pounce on her right there in the middle of the restaurant... I didn't care who watched. She basically returned the sentiment. Verbalizing it really helped us laugh and dissipate the taut stress. Of course it's going to take time, this is all of week two of New Guy being in the picture, and we both acknowledged that the lust we share may very well never go away. Time will soften the shock of the transition, and quell the intensity... won't it?

To kill the rest of her lunch hour, we walked down the block to Mendelson's, a nearby warehouse random-clearance-crap store. Out of habit, she looped her hand through the crook of my elbow to steady herself on the snowy sidewalk. I pressed my elbow and her hand to my side. It felt good to feel her hold onto me again. I was swept over by a flaming hot urgent desire so intense as to nearly make me feel out-of-body. It was so base, so animal, that I couldn't even speak; every fiber of my being was concentrated on restraining myself and maintaining dignity. This isn't going were you think it is. Save for a goodbye kiss that was a little too tender and a little too long, nothing inappropriate happened. I hold New Guy in the deepest of respect.

I just worry that given the opportunity, the devil on my left shoulder would knock the piss out of the angel on my right. I can't honestly say that I'm man enough to resist.

2011-02-07T21:29:00.000-05:00

Have you ever really thought about how the traditional symbol for the Yin and Yang is more than just a visual representation of the balance of equal but opposite forces? Ever notice, much like warm and cool air, how they remain not statically side by side, but rather swirl and spiral about each other in graceful fluid turbulence? The perpetual rotational momentum forever remaining unresolved, and thus, balanced and equalized by its own imbalance and inequality?

I have had so many positive blessings fall at my feet over the last couple of weeks, it is as though I could walk ankle-deep through them as I would a fresh snowfall: The new adventures of my traveling job. The demolition of my lifelong social brick wall. My latest consistently good paychecks. My friend Jen who when I asked laid against me and let me hold her while we watched a movie. Forming solid friendships with the people I work with, and learning and growing significantly by the examples of their free spirited natures. Akron Girl sending me a virtual kiss, perfectly timed after my feelings got bruised. A first date today with girl who, while I don't think I will pursue her romantically, was a sweetheart nonetheless. Talking with another I have yet to meet, but with whom I have established a definite “click”.

But just as there are soothing warm breezes, there are also chilling cold winds... the unpredicability of my new job's nomadic lifestyle which has turned my usual way of life upside down. Having to uproot and move somewhere new, wiping my slate clean just as I begin to get comfortable and learn the lay of each new temporary home. My student loan lender threatening to garnish my wages. The knowledge that as I sit here typing this in my room at 3:07 am, alone in the darkness with nobody to reach out to, 20 minutes away another man is laying with Dark Haired Girl where I once slept. The God-awful sick feeling of being so quickly replaced. The abject guilt of having stood by idly and done essentially nothing while our relationship stalled, crashed, and burned. The devastating sudden deprivation of human touch.

And just as yin and yang dance their whirling dervish, and warm and cold air meet in thunderous violent storms, so too have the good with the bad been clashing in my head. It's been a very confusing time lately. Most everything I'd come to know has been upheaved. While I've always upheld the belief that change is good, and I'm sticking to that claim as my life had ground to a dead standstill before taking off with the explosive speed of a Patriot missile, all this swirling conflict has created a raging tornado in my head. So please excuse me if I don't seem like myself for a while. I'm having trouble processing the sheer volume of new inputs.

Tornadoes inevitably dissipate, storm fronts eventually occlude, and soon enough I'll begin to grasp just what in the HELL is happening to me.

Till then, pardon the temporary insanity. :-)

The Moment is a Masterpiece

2011-02-02T00:26:00.003-05:00

Thanks to Plenty Of Fish, and having gotten over my fear of messaging pretty girls (not just the ones I think would have me), I have engaged in several wonderful conversations. Each time, I am amazed by how dynamic and intelligent they are. Then it hit me... I'm a raging sexist.

I have to be. I don't marvel when a dude turns out to be cool, but when a woman does, I'm bowled the hell over. Delightfully so, but still. Now, it's no secret that my dealings with the fairer sex have been few and far between throughout my life, and there was The Ex Wife who dominated me for an entire 1/3 of my existence on this earth, so my preconceptions tend to be based far more on a curved prejudice than on experience.

But why be astounded by their awesomeness? As a guy who places femininity as a whole high upon a gilded pedestal, why not instead be surprised when one turns out to be a psycho? It's as though my core concept of women is inherently damaged, thereby I'm caught off guard when I talk to a girl who's a sweetheart, rather than expecting her to be so.

I feel like such a dick. But I'm working on it, I promise.

---

Ok, so I've been thinking about this all day and kind of had a revelation. Turns out I'm not a chauvinist pig after all. Shaggy always said to me that for someone who has the biggest ego, I have the worst confidence. I myself have long pondered this paradox, and my realization does a nice job of resolving it.

It's not lack of confidence. Say some p-y-t has a camera in her hands. I'll be all over her talking photography, quite confidently. What holds me back from just simply talking to a woman is fear. Not the usual fear of rejection, that's too easy. Besides, rejection itself doesn't really bother me. Hey, you can't appeal to everybody. It's this irrational fear that women without that humanizing element (such as the camera) are somehow a step above, god-like, immediately passing negative judgement on imperfect little Andy.

Those two conversations changed all that, and my surprise at their humble sweet human-ness isn't from a place of sexism, it's just straight lack of exposure, lack of experience, and the gullibility to buy a lot of the pop culture image crap.

Now this is going to sound like the biggest "Duh, Andy" I've ever posted on here, but it's one of those things you can know without feeling. Well today, it really kind of sank in with some context and a whole lotta logic. Ready? Here goes...

Women are people, just like me.

I know! Duh, Andy! It's not like I haven't known this all along, it's just that I've matured to the point where it's finally sunk down to the level of feeling, not just knowing. I feel it now. This really forced my eyes to see unfamiliar women not up on some lofty pedestal, but on an equal playing field. People have been telling me this for most of my teens and all of my adult years, but you can't force it to absorb. I finally had the proper blend of events to crack my defenses and let it rush down from my head into my heart. I owe the vast majority to Dark Haired Girl, and how she picked me up when I was down and spent the past five years building me up.

Dazzled by this lightning bolt moment, I immediately started chomping at the bit to go and say hi to people. And I did. We're working at a nursing home, and I met the eyes of, smiled, and said hi to every nurse I passed. Not in an effort to flirt, and it wasn't one of those instances where I was consciously forcing myself to do so. It just happened. It flowed naturally from me, and I soared high on the ecstatic feeling that after 32 long years, I'd finally busted through to the other side of one of my life's most debilitating mental brick walls.

I talked to girls, and I wasn't scared. :-)

2011-01-20T06:48:00.001-05:00

It's a quarter till seven a.m., and we're both pretty sure this is the last time I'll wake up in Dark Haired Girl's bed; one final, beautiful night as lovers.

2011-01-19T00:06:00.001-05:00

There's a lesson to be learned from all of this. Fuck if I know quite what it is, but I can feel it's there. Waiting.

2011-01-17T18:12:00.010-05:00

The day I left Cleveland, late October 2008, I spent the night with Dark Haired Girl. As we laid together, she said to me that this couldn't last... that I needed to move on and find someone I could start a family with. I said just to enjoy the moment, and we'd worry about that later.

We've had our ups and downs, and gone through just about every out-of-sequence phase that a relationship should, short of marriage. We've been lovers, steady boyfriend/girlfriend, just friends, even completely separated. So as our second attempt at a committed relationship ground to an agonizing standstill, it came as no surprise when she took the initiative to pull us back to just friends. It was a breakup, I guess. Just not in the traditional sense. More of a gentle agreement, and we went right back on to being ourselves, only freer, and frankly, with the spark between us having returned and caught fire.

She said that because of my new job taking me out of town more often than I'd be around, and that I'd be making money and re-starting my adult life, that she couldn't bear the thought of me having to turn down in her name, any of life's experiences that she'd spent her young adulthood reveling in, but to which I am still largely unfamiliar. I was getting a little too comfortable sitting on the couch in her back room, sipping my whiskey, and letting life pass me by. She challenged me... kicked me out into the uncomfortable scary world to finally start having the adventures of youth that she'd long since tired of living, and also tired of hearing me talk about never experiencing.

I am eight years younger than Dark Haired Girl. 32 vs. 40. It's not a big deal. Nowhere even close to what one would call "may-december." I honestly really don't even think of us as being anything other than grown-ups of roughly the same age group.

But there is one caveat: While I was in grade school learning basic arithmetic, she was a wild-child high schooler partying her country girl ass off harder than an 80's teen movie. There were others long before me. There's a social "Old Guard" predating me, to which in adulthood I can only serve as spectator... maybe even invited accessory, but never member. It's a bubble that I'll forever be outside of, looking into. New Guy is party to those deep regions of her history, and an integral and inseparable thread throughout the fabric of her adolescence, when such a profound portion of one's adult, and indeed lifelong, identity is woven.

New Guy.

Funny, the relativity. Technically, I'm the new guy. I'm the stiff, colorful new patch sewn onto the otherwise vintage jacket amongst all the other faded, broken in, and familiar emblems. But from my juvenile point of view, to me he's the New Guy. Once last year, when he came back to the area to visit family, he and Dark Haired Girl spent the day catching up. I came over that evening and there were spots of bright green paint on the kitchen wall and on clothing on the laundry room floor. I gave a quizzical grin, and she said they'd been tromping around the creek painting trees.

Everybody has slightly different faces for different people. Everybody we know is associated with different aspects of our life experience, and of course I understand this. Who I am around Shaggy isn't the same person as I am around Dark Haired Girl, or my folks, or my boss. It sparked a flash of hellacious jealousy, though! He inspired that side of her personality, that adolescent free-spirited teenage Dark Haired Girl that did crazy shit like that, and I didn't.

Two weeks ago when Dark Haired Girl told me he's divorcing his wife, and she and he were going to get together, it came as no surprise. I'd even been anticipating it, given during his visit how sweetly he tried to hide his fondness for her, and the gorgeous woodwork gifts he handmade her this past Christmas. He's a good man with a good job and a good heart. When he visited, he was really cool and we got along beautifully. I would want nobody else for her.

But when she said he's moving in the last weekend of this month, you could have knocked me over with a feather.

Her house has never been my house. I've always felt perfectly at-home there, but it's never been my turf upon which to lay any claim. Her couch is everybody's couch. Her back party room is everybody's back party room. Her kitchen is everybody's kitchen. Her bedroom is everybody's bedroom.

But that's MY side of the bed, damn it.

fuck...

---

Now, this isn't a complete tale of woe for I, your friend and humble narrator. I only briefly touched upon Akron Girl in this post from late October, 2008. The broader story is that she and I met on Plenty Of Fish, and made a date for a Saturday night. That Friday evening as I closed up shop up in Cleveland, my boss basically told me I was going to be laid off Monday morning. Saturday night comes, and Akron Girl and I have the sweetest, cutest, most perfect storybook first date. Instant connection, like something out of a movie. And we made such beautiful passionate love that night... not the awkward fumbling knees-and-elbows tussle between strange unfamiliar lovers, but rather the poetry of two bodies moving in unison.

Monday morning came, I turned in my shop key, and that night I was sleeping back in Troy, my first carload of belongings already moved back. I figured I'd never see Akron Girl again.

Last November we found each other on Facebook. I mean, damn near simultaneously. I don't even remember accepting her friend request. It just kind of happened... I sent her a request, and with the next mouse click her status updates were on my news feed. She confided that although she was in a relationship, it wasn't going well, and that two years later, she still thought of me more than she should. I confessed that I also thought back to that night all too often.

It seemed a sweet but brief re-connection, until just a few weeks ago, when my company sent me on an assignment that had me staying in North Canton. My hotel was 15 minutes from her home. We went on a date, and the second I laid eyes on her for the first time in two years, it was magical. And we've been talking and texting (and exchanging poetry [OMG!]) ever since.

When I came home and nervously confessed this to Dark Haired Girl, her cryptic non-reaction except to explain that of course we're going to date others only served to freak me out worse. (Yes, we'd been broken up for a while, but I think it's abundantly clear I don't know jack shit about relationships. Bear with me.) Then happens our conversation a week later when she drops the bomb on me about New Guy. Turns out her odd reaction was actually an internal sigh of complete and utter relief, as she was freaking out in equal or greater measure about her news.

---

So this is kind of working itself out in a weird way... I guess? I mean, Akron Girl is going out on dates with other guys, of course. I'm (however unsuccessfully) trying to find a date myself. Neither of us are jumping into anything, don't worry. We both want to be single for a while, and the three and a half hour gap between us doesn't help. She just feels so right, you know? It's hard not to fall just a little.

Dark Haired Girl still wants me to come over for more than just a casual visit. Tonight. And while the fact that a now finite limit to our sexual relationship has rocketed it into the stratosphere, and while New Guy isn't arriving for another week and a half, something just doesn't feel right.

I'm on his side of the bed.

2011-01-03T23:29:00.002-05:00

So I'm at a hotel with an indoor pool and hot tub. Cool, right? Well....

I decide that a dip would be nice, so after a short stint in the swimming pool, which (come to find out) requires swimming, I arrive that my still-sore neck muscles from moshing and headbanging on New Year's Eve would benefit from a dunk in the adjacent hot tub.

Well (come to find out), they weren't kidding when they gave it that name. It's neither tepid tub, nor even super-warm tub. It's a holy-shit-this-could-cook-lasagna-noodles HOT tub. After ten minutes, I have made it down the steps and am wading waist deep in boiling water so searing that could render a live lobster edible. My feet are throbbing, my hands are pulsating, and my jewels are screaming for mercy. So I hop out and call the front desk to investigate.

See, the last time we were here, some dorky old guy was here every night when we got back from work in the evenings, in contrast to the sassy chubby milf (hotness!) who takes care of first shift here.

So, I call the dorky old guy. Instead, a sexy young female voice answers. I explain my predicament. She says the hot tub should be 104 degrees, so she'll check it out. Mind you, I'm a 280-pound hunk (of lard), so as a ridiculously hot young woman appears to check the temps, I'm struck pretty much motionless, mostly naked, man-tits dripping with sweat, waist-deep in a vat of water hot enough to make me wonder if maybe, given the cameras trained upon me, that I could quite possibly be the unwitting test subject (victim?) in some cannibalistic experiment in the slow braising of juicy fat guys.

She says the temp is a steady 104 degrees, so I assure her I'm just being sensitive, and it's ok. She counters that she'll add some fresh water to cool the tub. She disappears into the control closet and soothingly cool currents begin to swirl about my legs. A few minutes later she apologizes that 102 degrees is the lowest she can go, and I assure her that two degrees were enough to take the edge off my discomfort and sensitivity.

As proof, I dunk myself from waist-deep to chin-deep in one swoop. Were I alone, I'd most likely have screamed like a little girl, but playing macho man, I maintained the height of composure. Or at least I'd like to think so, but the inevitable agonized scowl (like that of when I bought and subsequently downed shots of Canadian whiskey for myself and a strange woman at The Brewery) most likely told a different story.

I manage to stay submerged for a surprisingly long time, maybe an entire six or seven minutes, before my vision begins to blur and my stomach starts wanting to violently reject everything I'd earlier eaten for dinner. Jumping out in only my trunks, I desperately search, hoping for a smoker's exit to the God-blessed outdoors. Instead, upon reaching the double glass doors leading out of the pool room, I am busted by said young hotness while 90% nude and dripping wet.

Any normal 32 year old man would posture and maybe even try to chat up said strumpet, but not me. I decide instead that the preferred choice of action would be to turn tail and jog over to my bath towel, which I wrap over my tits like a shawl while en route to my shirt. Desperately scrambling to don my polyester shirt over my damp and tacky skin, she walks in to replenish the towels. I keep my back turned. I couldn't bear to see her reaction to my flailing attempt to dress myself.

She having disappeared into the maintenance closet, I make my escape through the glass doors and sprint, skipping every other step, up the stairwell to the first floor where I burst through the front entrance gasping for fresh air, throw the towel on the sidewalk, and stand wearing only shirt and trunks in the 31 degree night, steam pouring off my skin.

What feels like forever later, the stiff breeze has abated the steam and my respiration returns to normal, even to the point of a minor shiver in my chest. I grab the towel off the ground and then go back into the lobby, where she has been standing for as long as I've been outside. Bare-footed with wet trunks and dripping hair long since having frozen solid, I walk past her and proclaim "Turns out I wasn't built for hot tubs!"

"Awwww!" she coos with an equal blend of nurturing, sarcasm, and pity.

I have the pimp skills of your average 12 year old boy.

2010-12-10T12:30:00.001-05:00

I love MTV. They'll let the camera linger on macaque monkeys fucking, but they censor the word "macaque" with a bleep.

2010-12-04T11:40:00.000-05:00

I have something to say about September 11th. This isn't a post about THE 9/11, but rather a sequence of events this past September 11th that have finally and truly spawned the Andy, version 2.0, that's been hanging over this blog for quite a while now. I think that's why I haven't written very much lately. While having anticipated the new Andy at the name changing of this blog, even with my then-new Concerta and fresh set of wits about me, I still didn't feel like I'd properly made the psychic upgrade to warrant the new label.

But on this past, my own 9/11, I finally was able to hold the proverbial mirror of reality up to my own face, and with my eyes cut through the fog of denial and other self-preservative bullshit into the soul of a person I'd gradually come to resent and even despise at times. And what resulted was a wave of shame so strong as to knock me off the foundation and pillars I'd carefully been constructing since my early teens.

We all have an ideal self... a set of concrete rules and regulations within which we define ourselves. Our self-paradigm. Our own personal dogma. It's the set-in-stone standard self to which we refer in the third person, and to which we adhere with dogged Pavlovian automation:

Andy despises all shades and hues of country music, and shall wretch at the sound of a pedal steel.

Andy will only ever drive compact cars.

Andy is a white collar, despite frequent past (and some not too hateful) forays into the blue.

Andy shall, at all costs, refuse to conform in any way.

Andy is WAY too good for that job.

Andy is not a menial laborer.

Andy shall staunchly deny the environment and culture into which he was born and raised.

Andy is smarter than you.

Andy doesn't like any element of popular culture, even if he secretly does.

Andy shall eschew any and all trends and fashions about him.

Andy uses tacky words like 'eschew'.

Andy hates sentences ending with prepositions.
(ok, that one will always bug the crap out of me. OCD.)

Andy is never at fault. There are always external factors working against him.

Andy can't afford proper Christmas gifts for people this year. Again.

... the list goes on. You get the point: despite the primary and overwhelming genuinely genuine "nice guy" base personality, Andy can be kind of a prick.

Shame is a funny thing. Stand-alone, it's a pretty vague and nebulous spiritual nausea. Pair it with guilt and you've got yourself some serious soul napalm, disablingly sticky and searing and nearly impossible to remove, popular with churches and pundits the world over. But hold the guilt and season it with some "mea culpa" self awareness, a sprinkle of self forgiveness, a cup of self reflection, and a five pound bag of determination... well, you've got yourself a crackerjack batch of "Man up and grow a pair!"

---

You wouldn't know, but those three hyphens above represent a decent while's passage of time. So here's the skinny: I'm typing this from a hotel room in Roanoke, Virginia, on a business trip for a job whose gaining has been the culmination of pretty intense efforts spawned by the above mentioned happening.

In the mean time, Dark Haired Girl and I decided to put the kibosh on the whole "committed relationship" thing. Basically, we've stopped calling ourselves boyfriend/girlfriend, stopped acting like an old married couple, and have resumed having sex hot enough to melt sand into glass. Aside from that, nothing else changed. It wasn't a "breakup" in the traditional sense. Just a step back to what we used to be, when our relationship was simpler.

So I can't help but feel like I've truly (finally!) started down the path to my second shot at adulthood. I saw a need for change. I made it happen. I'm bringing in some nicer paychecks, righting a few past wrongs, and I'm breathing new momentum and life into an existence which had pretty much stalled dead in its tracks. I am hopefully, this time, truly becoming Andy, version 2.0.

---

On a completely unrelated note, am I the only one who thinks the girl I call the "chubby office chick" from the Call of Duty video game commercial is just cute as hell?

I'm such a chubby chaser. :-)

2010-08-19T09:30:00.000-05:00

I vividly remember the day in March of 2003. I was working second shift at the office at Honda. The announcement came through on CNN that columns of coalition tanks had crossed the Iraqi border and begun toward Baghdad, marking the start of major combat. The string of obscenity that I emitted against President Bush silenced those around me, and I had to step outside to recompose myself. "It'll be over in just a matter of weeks!", the Republicans cooed.

Last night I heard of the last full combat brigade convoy leaving Iraq, and all I could do was shake my head and mutter "It's about damned time."

Welcome home, troops. It'll be good to have you back.

2010-07-24T21:05:00.001-05:00

At Grandpa's 94th birthday lunch, I met a relative from the other side of the family who looked JUST LIKE DAD. --Freaked. Me. Out.

2010-07-10T08:50:00.001-05:00

So I just counted: the word 'sex' appears five times on the cover of Cosmo, but only once on Maxim's. Hmmm...

2010-06-24T06:15:00.001-05:00

Saw a commercial for those Shake Weights featuring buff dudes, and there's just no way to make that NOT look dirty.

2010-05-28T08:38:00.001-05:00

No matter how much he tried to insert the pause, I still giggle each time I hear Steve Inskeep on NPR say "Nook E-Reader".

2010-05-17T19:03:00.001-05:00

A white-haired elderly white guy just drove by in a powder blue Crown Vic... shaking the ground with gangsta rap and subwoofers.

2010-05-13T05:51:00.001-05:00

Has anybody else noticed how much we're hearing on the news about jobs coming to Dayton rather than the usual doom and gloom? :-)

Southerners never fail to amuse me

2010-05-12T00:56:00.001-05:00

So I'm riding my bike home at about 1:15am-ish from hanging out with friends when AGAIN I am harassed. I've said it before... I know how dorky I look with my bright-ass yellow safety shirt and bike helmet. Unlike last time with the teenagers spouting acrid hate speech, though, this was freaking hilarious. Some drunk redneck was hanging out of the passenger window of his buddy's duelly pick-em-up truck (with upright stacks instead of normal tail pipes) shouting at me with this cartoony twang: "Hay! Hay you! Y'know yer a fuckin queer? Yeah, y'are! Yer a fuckin queer! Better hurry up on that bike'a yers!"
I about died laughing.

2010-05-09T19:44:00.001-05:00

If I were a Staples employee, and someone kept shouting "WOW!!" every five seconds in my store... I'd have to shoot him.

Bombs Away

2010-05-06T19:21:00.000-05:00

So I decided that since the bomber jacket that Dad bought for himself Christmas '08 didn't fit anybody, I'd try to sell it maybe on Craigslist, ebay, or just pawn the thing. I know he paid a couple hundred for it, so I decided to go on National Geographic's site (where he bought it from) to check on the true retail price. I about fell out of my cotton-pickin seat when this popped up:

Seven Hundred God Damned Dollars!!! What the fuck was he thinking?? I know he said he splurged, but Holy Hell... he didn't have that kind of money to go spending on ANYTHING, let alone a completely ostentatious luxury item like a sheepskin coat.

I decided to go to the website of the manufacturer, Schott Bros:

Figuring that since it retails new for that, and he only had it one winter and barely wore it, I could get away with asking $500. Given that it has a bit of a cigarette odor, I'll knock $50 off the price for cleaning. Fair asking price, I think.

I mean, thanks for the goldmine, Dad, but you had rent that went unpaid. You had intermittent phone service. You had shit upon which $700 could have been infinitely more wisely utilized.

I will never figure you out, man.

Brains or Breasts?

2010-05-03T23:32:00.002-05:00

So tonight on television, amidst the 150 or so thousand channels to choose from, there stood two shows that beared back-and-forth viewing in the 11:30 to Midnight spot:

1) Comedy Central's "The Colbert Report". Intellectual, cerebral, supremely intelligently written, and yet scathingly rude (and often delightfully crude) satirical humor skewering the conservative political right in favor of a much more left-leaning centrist point of view (much as that of the author of this post)... which stands in directly stark contrast, and as a direly craved breath of fresh air to, the otherwise overwhelming majority of American popular humor based nearly exclusively on farting.

2) G4's "The International Sexy Ladies Show" featuring too-hot-for-American-tv (and often uncomfortably misogynistic) television programming from a variety of countries spanning the planet. 100% of the examples, whether from Japan, Germany, UK, or Brazil, prominently feature stereotypically "hot chicks" removing their clothing and jiggling their boobies. Whether stripping down to their underwear, or beyond, breasts exclusively result as the main attraction. The author of this post simultaneously both notes and laments ruefully the absence of what the mainstream would consider curvy, queen sized, thick, big-and-beautiful, zaftig, rubenesque, plus-sized, curvaceous, and otherwise chubby girls. Did I mention that it also shows a lot of jiggling boobs?

Talk amongst yourselves. I'll give you a topic...

Which one did I watch more of?

2010-05-03T06:09:00.001-05:00

I'm just wondering why, in the year 2010, we can't have security cameras with higher resolution than a webcam from 1998.

2010-04-30T21:40:00.001-05:00

A Blogger exclusive! You know what country that flies under the international radar, but really sounds, honestly, like a coolio place to visit? ...Finland.

2010-04-29T05:56:00.001-05:00

Having a stellar morning with my new 54mg concerta. Also had a quality protein breakfast, which i learned helps focus. Also have a really catchy song in head :)

2010-04-27T05:45:00.001-05:00

Forgot to take my concerta for the first time since going on it, and holy cow, the difference! I'm lost in a fog this morning.

2010-04-24T20:30:00.001-05:00

Cleveland has stopped feeling real to me anymore... and more of just a dream.

2010-04-24T09:06:00.001-05:00

I am happily garage sale-ing in P-Hill, and just procured a fabulous graphite shaft hybrid 5-iron for a buck. Score!

2010-04-23T08:38:00.001-05:00

"Grab Bar Man" definitely takes a spot on my top 10 list of goofy business names.

2010-04-21T19:22:00.001-05:00

Again, today I felt almost no difference with the concerta, taken around 10am. Around 6 started getting a teensy bit down, but dinner cured it. Blood sugar?

2010-04-19T10:43:00.001-05:00

Nearing 7-hour mark since taking concerta, still no come-down or crash. The cold is subsiding as well, not sure if that has had any effect.

2010-04-19T09:03:00.001-05:00

Dear Playtex, I would like to express to you my deepest gratitude for your latest round of television commercials and the curvaceous bra models therein.

2010-04-18T13:51:00.001-05:00

Quarter till 3, full crash. i did go to bed late last night and am fighting a combined head/chest cold. (it's winning)

2010-04-18T08:42:00.001-05:00

Took concerta at 4:30am. didn't have quite the energy "buzz", and am still feeling sharp at the 5-hour mark. crashed yesterday but recovered with a snack.

2010-04-17T15:02:00.001-05:00

4:00 space cadet has returned.

2010-04-17T14:36:00.001-05:00

3:30 and energy wore off gently. Still feeling sharper than I would be before meds.

2010-04-17T10:06:00.001-05:00

Took concerta at 11:05am.

2010-04-16T10:43:00.001-05:00

Noticing that today and yesterday the concerta-induced energy "buzz" wears off after about five hours. Food smooths out the crash. Focus remains intact.

Another Fresh New Start

2010-04-15T19:21:00.004-05:00

So.

Umm.

Well, you probably have noticed that "Treasures" had been hibernating for a while now. I'm sure most of you probably left this blog for dead. On that note, I'm sure most of you won't even read this. But no matter. This has been my chance to hit the proverbial "Reset Button", and return this blog to less of a vehicle for trying to impress my readers, and more to what it was originally intended: a diary. So this wasn't really a hibernation, now that I think about it. It has been a metamorphosis. A coccooning, if you will. True, I pretty much ignored this for FB, but it's because I still don't have an internet connection of my own, and do 99% of my facebooking from my cell phone. Well, as you can see from the previous post, I learned how to send my updates to both. So this blog will receive not only my quick and snarky 160-character-or-less cell phone updates, but also my longer (and longer-winded) essays. Yeah, I'll keep up with posting any photos I feel are pertinent too. :-)

See, my change of heart has come about from what those around me may consider a trivial matter, but to me is far more significant and deserving of my usual brand of over-dramatization:

Yesterday I saw a doctor for a checkup, my first since the Air Force back in the 90s, and this morning I took my first dose of Concerta, which is basically time-release Ritalin. My A.D.D. had reached intolerable levels, and I realized that while there is no indignity, especially in this economy, in making donuts for a living... (in fact I'm really proud of my work as any of my FB friends will attest) there is definite indignity in dreaming big but being too airheaded and not doing jack shit to move forward.

So, with the fog of A.D.D. already significantly lifted in a single day's dose (believe me, I've accomplished more in one day today that I have in the last month), and the entire community surrounding me, save for the Ex, never having known me back when I was on Ritalin, I am rebranding myself, and indeed renaming this blog. With the veil lifted from my brain, my brilliance will now flow freely and uninhibited, and I will grow exponentially from the scatterbrained space cadet that I previously was. I am Andy, version 2.0!

I don't need to search any longer for that rarest of treasures. I realize now that that was pretty much a rhetorical and vague ambiguity designed by my subconscious to not only provoke conclusions within you, but also keep me in a perpetual and quixotic state of despair. No more.

Well, the short and very much cliché answer is that I found that rarest of treasures in Dark Haired Girl. Of course it goes far more profound and very much deeper within my own self issues than just "I found a girl and she completes me". This isn't Jerry Maguire. My salvation has been her magic working so thoroughly and deeply into me, that seeds have awakened within my spirit that never before had Dark Haired Girl's special nourishment to begin to germinate and flourish.

In short, I have so fully integrated Dark Haired Girl into my own sense of identity that I cannot meet new people and talk about myself without invoking her in the first few getting-to-know-you moments.

Can you think of a better meaning for "that rarest of treasures"? I'd like to hear if you do.

School awakened my abilities. Dark Haired Girl awakened my spirit; now medicine has awakened my mind.

It's time to shine.

2010-04-15T19:14:00.001-05:00

Just testing mobile updating options...

2010-02-10T15:57:00.003-05:00

I have just propositioned the Einstein Bros. Bagels company to open a location in this market with the following epistle:

I first got hooked on your restaurant when I was stationed at Whiteman AFB in Missouri, and frequented your Blue Springs location. Years later, I moved to Parma Heights in Ohio, and imagine my relief to see a location just down Pearl Rd. from me! Heaven! It was like re-connecting with a dear old friend. Job market being what it is, I'm now living just north of Dayton, Ohio, and I am SERIOUSLY jonesing for some Einstein Bros.! I'm having to substitute with Panera, and frankly, I really don't like their food. It's like eating Taco Bell when what I want is Chipotle. Please open up a location somewhere (anywhere!) in Dayton... heck, here in Troy. We're a charming little town that's managed to keep growing and prospering through this tough time. A location here would make a killing! Please consider. If I have to choke down another ridiculously overpriced Panera bagel, I'm going to scream, and I'm pretty sure they frown upon such behavior.

Yours in Cream Cheese,
Andy Hutchinson

2010-02-01T15:15:00.002-05:00

Not a whole lot has been happening. Still on a continuing low-grade bummer trip from Dad, but nothing without relative ease I can't deal. Just hanging in there, taking far fewer pics than I should be, and in general am just surviving day-to-day. I did shoot a senior a week or two ago, and designed her the following composites:

I also decided to create the following comic strip after hearing countless comments concerning how the inclusion or lack of glitter in the cosmetics of movie vampires somehow affects the credibility of their authenticity. I dunno, but I figure the fact that vampires don't exist AT ALL kind of negates all that, but anyway, here's a good one for all you vampire movie fans, past and present:

I got a camera phone! Like I need another camera... but now I can snap shots where I normally couldn't. Here's a few from my little corner of the bakery:

And this is at Toni's Cuppa Joe, my favorite little coffee shop on earth, hanging out with Shaggy and his Chica.

---

So Rush criticized the Obama Administration's response to Haiti as just an attempt to gain black voters. If Rush had even a half-ounce of courage in his convictions, he'd grow a pair and run for office instead of cowering in his studio sucking on his E-I-B golden dildo. Oh, no... then he'd actually be responsible for his actions instead of shoveling coin in his pocket from sponsors.

Now, I'm all for free speech. I don't want any of these conservative talk entertainers to quit what they're doing. That's capitalism, and it's a hugely profitable and lucrative business. Yay for them. It's just wrong when they start getting up their own asses and start trying to influence outcomes in the political process. That's what congress is for.

I just think it's sorry and pathetic that I can pinpoint with 100% accuracy what mood a particular radio fan I know of will be in before I see him, based solely on how loud Rush and/or Hannity are shouting that particular day.

But now I'm ranting just as bad as they. I'll stop now. :-)

Life does indeed go on.

2010-01-11T19:38:00.004-05:00

I've been thinking about Dad a lot lately. After the initial shock there was an intensely busy period leading up to the holidays where I really didn't have a whole lot of time to. Now that I'm not working with Liz anymore because of too many schedule conflicts, and the holidays having passed, life has returned to a much more sane pace. As such, my mind is also having much more time to wander... more often than not, to processing the fact that Dad is gone.

Funny thing is, my mind keeps focusing on the increasing number of silver linings this dark cloud keeps revealing... and yes, there can be positives, even if they consist not so much of a good thing, but rather the absence of a negativity. Dad hated winter, and I know he was dreading the onslaught of what most everybody (apparently quite accurately) had been predicting to be an exceptionally cold season. Now he won't get the seasonally affective winter blahs.

A heavy smoker, over the last few years he'd developed a nasty cough that I was sure would do him in if lung cancer didn't. I don't have to worry about that now.

He also was getting ever more increasingly forgetful, often telling me the same anecdotes (nearly word-for-word) three, four, or even five times over sequential phone conversations. His mother, my grandma who is still living, has succumbed to Alzheimer's, and I had also feared that Dad was headed down that path. No longer to worry.

I could go on. Dad carried so many worries on his shoulders. He was becoming a grumpy old man, well before his time to do so. He still had hopes... ideas of things he'd like to do. Changes in his life he'd like to make. He wanted to move to Troy and resume his screen printing. Decades ago, he made such brilliant framed screen prints of his artwork. Unfortunately, he lost his will, and eventual physical ability, to make things happen. As his body weakened, he would rather just plop down on the couch and have another cherry turnover and glass of wine. It was an irreconcilable conflict within his psyche, this constant struggle between desire and ability. And now the war is over.

And that, dear readers, is wonderful solace.

---

Speaking of this crazy winter we've been having, today upon his suggestion, Shaggy and I went out to Charleston Falls to take some photos of the snow. He'd never been there, and I figured that by now the falls would be frozen over. I was right, and his reaction to the spectacle was comparable to that of a kid on Christmas morning.

Now, I am Mr. Nice Hiker and stay on the trails. Immediately, though, Shaggy went through the rails and was tromping all around the falls. Not having seen any Park Ranger vehicles in the lot, and getting only boring shots from the observation deck, with his goading I hopped the fence and was happily trespassing under the natural limestone ampitheater the falls have created.

Shaggy took the photo above. I was totally posing...

and had to photoshop out a booger. It was cold, my nose ran!

Self portrait of a dork.

---

I'd fallen out of the habit of taking photos. Thanks to Shaggy for giving me the swift kick in the butt to get moving. It felt good to shoot again.

2009-11-19T11:33:00.016-05:00

A month and a half ago on October 30, 2009, my Dad unexpectedly but peacefully died. He was 64.

Since then, I have written countless posts on this blog, only to erase them... some taking several hours, only to be highlighted and deleted. I couldn't find the right things to say.

Some were long obituaries, some eulogies, some life stories, and some were straight documentation of the sequence of events following. None felt right.

Taken by Dad's good friend, Maury.

So I just want to reassure you, dear reader(s), that while the situation honestly and truly sucks, I am doing well. My support structure aggressively made sure that my mouth never stopped moving, and that whatever was on my mind had absolutely no time to sit and fester. For several days, Shaggy would even call me from his 2nd shift job on both breaks and lunch, just in case I needed to get anything out. And I did. And it helped. Dark Haired Girl's support was absolutely critical to maintaining my composure, and sanity in general during the turbulent week following Dad's death.

So I'll spare you the eulogy, the obituary, and the miniature biography.

Goodbye Dad. I love you, and I miss you.

2009-11-03T12:06:00.001-05:00

I am in the midst of handling a family tragedy. Believe me, since Sunday evening I now have much to say, just not right now. Know that I'm ok, and I'll have a nice long post within the next few days.

2009-10-16T17:13:00.002-05:00

Well, the laptop came home safe and sound from its vacation to the Dell repair center. Still haven't checked to see if the cd/dvd drive works, but I'll get around to it. Anyhoo, it's friday, and I don't have to work tomorrow, which is wonderful. I have been working up to seven days a week between Wally World, Liz, and my own photography gigs.

Dark Haired Girl is finally pretty much back to normal, now that she has recovered from both of her surgeries. It's good to have her back. Not only me, but she says that a bunch of people have described her with the word "glowing". She does now. She just glows.

I bought her a pink Snuggie last night. She LOVES it. :-)

So anyway, I'd talk more, but it's date night. We haven't really had the chance to do that since July, and it's taken a bit of a toll on our relationship. Nothing dramatic, and certainly nothing that can't be reclaimed in short order. I miss canoodling with her, and through her illness and recovery canoodleage has been a rare commodity. Not her fault, and I'm not complaining. I just miss touching her.

I'm at Winan's Coffee down by the Dayton Mall after getting off work with Liz, and have been hearing sirens repeatedly screaming by. I know it's damp outside, and my tires are damn near as bald as drag racing slicks. Dreading the drive back up I75 through downtown Dayton and all of the accompanying perils. They're completely re-doing the highway through town, and the construction redirections have the road less like a highway and more like a slalom course.

Luckily, four new tires for the Mirthmobile, especially with my 10% employee discount, will only be about $220-ish. Now that I've bought all the photo gear that I really need to get my job done, I can focus on saving more and maybe even getting out of Mom's house by sometime in the first half of next year. Still paying off the back rent from Cleveland, but I've finally got it chipped down to about $375. Since I'm still waiting for a recent wedding's print order, as well as sales from the latest group home portrait shoot, I should be able to get some new tires and have Cleveland paid off in no time.

Dark Haired Girl and I are planning to weekend in Cleveland in December when her beloved Steelers come to play the Browns. Equal parts excited and dreading it. I know I'll get emotional, but it'll be nice to see Al at the Creekside and Jimmy at the Clubhouse again. May even stop by to chat with the fine folks at my old employer. Hopefully we'll get some good wind coming off the lake and I can show her the winter surfers at Edgewater Park.

I guess I should go. It's 6:30, this chair is KILLING my butt, and there's a hot chick in Bradford, Ohio waiting to go out with me.

Habemus Laptop!

2009-10-03T15:56:00.005-05:00

Well smack my ass and call me Sally... I, your friend and humble narrator have saved up and purchased a new 17" Dell Studio laptop! Dual Core processer, 4 gigs ram, 500 gig hard drive, 16 million displayable colors, and other impressive measurements as well.

And a webcam. Ooh! I have to show you just how hipster I am now. Check this out:

In my defense, my Mom and Chuck just got back from a trip to The Bahamas about three days ago, and they brought me back the hat. A Jamaican rasta hat. Made in Guatemala. From the Bahamas. With a nifty little stash pocket. Currently it holds a couple of CF cards.

Naturally, not all is 100% well in Andyland. The CD/DVD drive would not accept discs, and when it finally did, it would not read them. The laptop also had a mysterious rattle when shifted from side to side. In a live chat with Dell's customer support (which was awesome, by the way), a small white wire popped out of the drive. I had the tech turn on the webcam, and I held it up. He immediately said they'd replace the drive. So he's sending me a box, and I'm shipping it back to Dell for repair. For a week and a half, I'll be laptop-less again, but hopefully it won't take the full 7 business days to repair and ship back.

I lobbied him for a free upgrade to a lightscribe drive for my troubles, but I fear my plea fell on deaf ears. I'll attach a note to the unit for shipping, in hopes that the laptop falls into the hands of a more sympathetic repair tech. I REALLY want a lightscribe. Really really really.

---

Otherwise, I'm working my butt off six days a week, and sometimes seven if I've got weekend shoots like my wedding last week, and a group home day coming up on the 10th. I'll post photos when I transfer data onto this computer.

So, yay! I'm back online for a little while anyway, then I'll be off, then on again for good.

---

P.S.
I think that political commentator James Carville

is actually an alien.

2009-09-23T08:17:00.002-05:00

I am so close to a laptop that I can taste it. ... and while a laptop's flavor may leave something to be desired, the idea of having a mobile computing platform of my own is delicious proposition indeed!

I love this time of year... the first day of autumn has passed, I'm waking up in the morning all bundled up in my blanket, and we're nearing this blog's anniversary. Yep, the 26th is ISoTRoT's fifth birthday.

Incidentally, since the inception of the title "In Search of That Rarest of Treasures", I have never made an acronym of it. Who'd'a thunk that it would make a pronounceable word?

Isotrot. Hmm... Sounds like some new slipper from Isotoner.

So, if I even have a single reader left, I promise... well, no. I don't promise, but I give you a 100% definite MAYBE that I will again rejoin the online world within the next few coming weeks.

Keep your fingers crossed and don't let go till then, ok?

(not so) Quick Update

2009-08-27T10:23:00.007-05:00

Well, I'm typing this from an unlikely place: the waiting room at our local hospital. Don't be alarmed... Dark Haired Girl had surgery on her bladder, and the doc just came out to tell me that all went well, and that she's chillin' like a villain in the recovery room.

Ok, so he didn't say chillin', but you just know the anesthesiologist has her stoned off her ass right now.

The nurses who were prepping her for surgery thought we were married and kept referring to me as her husband. When they left, she and I just grinned at each other. The sound of that really wasn't hateful at all.

---

So, yeah. I've been trying but can't get on Blogger at home. I have a big shoot Saturday the 5th, the proceeds of which will go toward a laptop. It's become a straight-up bitch to be a digital photographer without one. Full tower desktop PC cases with CRT monitors aren't exactly the most portable of creatures. Once in my posession, which I'm hoping will be within September, I'll resume my online presence.

I miss talking to you guys. I think all these great thoughts, but have nowhere to put them, and as soon they arrive, POOF! they dissipate. I started the other night on my latest project, which I hope to turn into a book. The working title is "Steel Reserve, a Love Affair."

If you've never had Steel Reserve malt liquor, it's a real treat. Think of the last time you drove past a freshly road-killed skunk. Now take that, add alcohol, and put it in a shiny 22-ounce aluminum can.

Somehow, I managed to acquire a taste for it. Any reasonable explanation as to why still eludes me, but it happened. Anyhoo, one night Dark Haired Girl took a sip of it, and her face wretched and twisted in ways I didn't know faces could move. She looked like a butter sculpture left in the sun too long.

Once I picked myself up off the floor, regained my breath, and returned from the vaguely purple color I had laughed my ass into, I was immediately inspired to create a series of photos. The first two were taken Tuesday night, Shaggy and Blonde Haired Girl. I haven't laughed so hard in months. Wasn't expecting to be online, so I don't have any web-sized previews to show you. You're in for a real treat...

---

Speaking of Tuesday, it was my 31st birthday. I've really downplayed things this year. I don't know, turning 30 was fun, but the prospect and lead-up to this one (and probably most hereafter) has been markedly dreadful. Yes I, your friend and humble narrator, have acknowledged and begun to feel my mortality.

---

So, the Spanish Learning is going well, I'm really trying to train my brain to stop thinking in French (leftover from high school) and start generating original thoughts in Spanish. Mystery commenter of several posts prior, feel free to leave more titillating tantalizing tongue-twisting translational tidbits.

2009-08-02T19:01:00.003-05:00

Hi all. I decided to go (after a fair bit of research and some advice during an unexpected encounter with a weird new-agey healer) to embark on a regimen of B vitamins and this stuff called 5-HTP, which I gather is the amino acid your brain uses to create seratonin, the "feel good" chemical. Thus far, it has done a decent job of taking the edge off of my anxiety. My teeth feel better as I have greatly reduced my jaw clenching, and I simply don't feel so damned uptight about work as I had been. Subtle effects, but noticeable.

Of course, it doesn't help that at this time last year, I was living in Cleveland with a career and adult life steaming full speed ahead like an ore freighter across Lake Erie. I felt like I had my life ahead of me then. It doesn't feel much like that now... more like somehow the best that life had to offer has already come and passed by, and now it's just down to existing from day to day. But deep down I know that's not really true.

At least I have a job, albeit part time and with the Evil Empire. After two rounds of layoffs at my store alone, as well as the last remaining Fortune 500 company (NCR) in the city of Dayton now having announced plans to leave town within the next year, a whole lotta people can't say that. That, and Liz wants me to work more hours with her. I haven't lost my perspective on things, which is why although it sounds like I'm all boo-hooing and full of despair, at worst I'm really just kinda bummed about the state of things, and am otherwise keeping my chin up, riding my bike a lot, losing weight, and getting some SEXY-ass muscular legs. ;-)

I still have the slow trickle of occasional gigs coming in, which helps quash the feeling that I've lost my profession. That's my worst fear. Worse than spiders.

eek.

---

I did something the other morning which I haven't done in what feels like a very long time... I took pictures. Not for a gig, but just because the spirit moved me to do so, which is something I haven't felt in a good while. I had woken up early at Dark Haired Girl's house to go home and get dressed for a day working with Liz, and was stunned by the scenery of sunrise over the misty fields of her father's farm.

It felt good having even a fleeting moment of inspiration, like meeting an old friend again.

That Rarest of Treasures?

2009-07-21T20:36:00.006-05:00

For starters, let me say just this: I am on an internet connection so PAINFULLY slow that I have played four full games of solitaire (and won two) in the time it has taken this page to load. Every single page loads at about this same rate... on a good day. Some days, it's not even worth hitting the reload button ten times.

I was just laying in bed, sleepless so late now that my alarm clock will be going off in about five hours. I hate having to get up at 3AM.

There has been some psychological weirdness going on at my end of things, and yesterday I made an appointment for August 20th with the local Free Clinic's absolute SAINT of a volunteer psychiatrist. I realize now the extent to which I have anxiety issues, and they really came to smack me in the face this past weekend.

I damn near had a panic attack friday afternoon at work as I was told how many multiple extra dozens of donuts were needed for the following Saturday morning. Simple donuts. Freaking DONUTS! And I was creating more drama than a teenage girl whose boyfriend just dumped her for the cheerleading squad captain. I mean, I fell to a million little pieces. Dark Haired Girl came to visit me and drop off my phone that I left at her place, and her first words were "Oh my God, what's wrong?? Your face looks horrible!" I was in the thick of a totally inappropriate and uncalled-for "flight or fight" physical response.

Then Saturday, As I was headed to Liz's wedding (!!! Story to follow when I have more time) I found that even in a car with the air conditioning cranked at full blast, I was sweating buckets and wanting nothing more than to turn around, go home, and curl into a little ball. I was scared to death at the idea of being around so many people, whether familiar or not.

It became clear to me that my anxieties had become a major hindrance to my everyday functioning.

Then I had the lightbulb, epiphany, eureka revelation: My life is ruled by anxiety. Suddenly, I looked back on the last 25 of my 30 years, beginning with the shy kindergartner and elementary school student who would rather bum around in the corner of the playground or swing staring at the ground or sky rather than suffer the fear of having to try to play with the other kids. Then I moved on to high school, where I joined only two clubs, both of which I quit because I couldn't handle the pressure and responsibility of belonging. And math class. OH MY GOD, math class.

The only reason I'm not a brain surgeon or subatomic particle physicist right now is the such horrible anxiety over math class, which triggered and exacerbated my ADD trips and complete lack of ability to focus over the frustration and fear of numbers, that I in my senior year couldn't even pass ALGEBRA amongst all the freshmen and sophomores who could.

I used to (and sometimes still do) get heart palpitations. Once in my sophomore year, my heart was flip-flopping so bad that I went to the emergency room and spent time in the hospital.

And my marriage! Fear, anxiety, fear, anxiety, fear, anxiety, fear and more anxiety. By the time I got out of that mess, beaten down worn thin as cellophane, it's a wonder I hadn't already suffered a heart attack.

I am a photographer. I take pictures. That's my chosen profession, and admitted obsession in life. Yet, I DREAD photo assignments. My first reaction to the proposition of a new gig is a huge surge of terror. Fight or Flight. I have to force myself to say yes, and while I'm there, I'm mentally hanging on by barely a thread. It's not a confidence issue. I know I'm good. But for some reason, I get this unchecked anxiety that causes a little mental breakdown, which causes more anxiety, thus snowballing into a total shit-storm in my head when I'm supposed to be the college trained and degreed professional. That's straight fucked up.

My entire life has been (and to a degree is still being) dictated by anxiety and fear. That's why I'm a thirty year old boy still living with his mother and working part time at Walmart with no workable career to speak of. I'm sick of it, the prodigious self-medication with alcohol, and I'm going to do something about it.

My social anxiety has caused me to drop contact like a hot potato with more dear friends than I dare count. You've no idea the guilt I've felt. Oh, the guilt. And remorse.

This blog is titled "In Search of That Rarest of Treasures". I never mentioned exactly what that rare treasure is because I've never really known. It's always been one of those situations where I've not been able to find any answers because I've not even known the question. I think I have a better idea now, and that treasure may just be those ever-so-fleeting moments of clarity where my mind is unfettered, and is free to shine like the sun, like it should.

Things will get better. Just bear with me.

2009-06-24T19:57:00.006-05:00

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.

---

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. :-)

---

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.

2009-06-16T20:51:00.010-05:00

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?

---

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!

---

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.

---

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.

---

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

G'night.

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

2009-06-02T21:57:00.005-05:00

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...

---

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.

---

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.

Anti-WHAT powder??

2009-05-30T18:33:00.004-05:00

Thanks for the great comments on the last post, y'all. Shutterbug, it's always especially nice to hear from you. :-)

---

Well the switch to Boost Mobile, and their awesome $50/month unlimited plan (which I have been talking up nonstop to people whether they want me to or not), has an unplanned and pleasant side effect: I got on Motorola's site and found a way to use my phone as a modem. A free dial-up provider later, and I'm back on the internet! Now, this access is only about half the speed of normal dialup, mind you, but it's the internet nonetheless, and from the comfort of my own home. Yay!

For about the last three or so weeks I have been working part time for Liz, and that seems to be going well. I'd really missed hanging out with her. We'd initially discussed going full-time beginning in June, but that got put on the back burner. For now, I'm still doing the whole work-with-Liz-on-my-days-off-from-Wally-World routine. I must admit I kinda like the pace of the schedule, and the pay is nice. I'm now basking in the warm glow of a buzz from Guiness instead of Milwaukee's Beast.

I've really gotten into bicycling lately, and have on several occasions ridden my bike the 19 miles out to Dark Haired Girl's place just outside of Bradford, Ohio. I was hoping to enter the Strawberry Festival's bike tour this next weekend, but they shifted my schedule around at Wally World and I now work Sundays. I can still do the route later, they paint markers on the roads. I just wanted to experience the camaraderie among the riders, as well as the frequent stops with water and carb-y fuel snacks like doughnuts and bagels and bananas and whatnot. There's still the one Mom and Chuck go to every year in August... the Amish Land and Lakes tour up north. It always sounds like such a blast, so I'm dead-set on going with them this year. Should yield some great photo ops as well.

Anyhoo, I broke down the other day and bought a pair of tight stretchy spandex-y bike shorts. They're really nice because they don't bunch up, they've got a nice soft chamois on the inside for your undercarriage, and gel padding on the outside. It was awkward as hell though, taking my first tentative steps out of the house feeling like I was wearing nothing but a shirt and shoes. It felt kinda exhibitionistic, actually, and a little sexy...

;-)

Oh, and BTW there is this great product they sell at Tractor Supply Company: Anti Monkey Butt Powder. I kid you not. That is a legitimate product made up of talc and calamine powders, and it works like freakin magic. The last ride out to Dark Haired Girl's house... I was monkey-butt-saddle-sore free!

---

Anyhoo, I haven't really done much personal work with the camera lately, save for a profitable headshot session with a local MR/DD agency. I've really been letting it gather dust lately because I simply have been in an inspirational void since coming back to Troy. I did have this great idea for a project, though... it's no secret that I drink (and, inexplicably rather enjoy) Steel Reserve beer. Once, Dark Haired Girl asked for a sip of that stuff I'm always drinking, and her face contorted in disgust in ways I didn't know faces could move. I died laughing. So Shaggy asked about it the other day, and I said he's not allowed to try it until I have him in a studio setup so I can photograph his initial reaction to it. I think it would make a great book, to get people who have never had it before to try it and let me shoot their disgusted grimaces. I'll call it "Steel Reserve... a love affair."

---

Have you guys seen those new commercials for Dos Equis centering around a figure known only as "The most interesting man in the world"? I should find them annoying, as I do most commercials meant to make men feel insecure, but I think there's a perfect amount of tongue-in-cheek B.S., and they're just cheesy enough that I really think they're clever and funny as hell.

"He lives vicariously... through himself."

---

It's 8pm, saturday night, and I have to get up at three to do doughnuts tomorrow morning. Spent my day off golfing with Mom and Chuck (almost parred one hole, but missed the putt and bogeyed it), and then putting in 10 miles on the bike. I am tired.

Good night, sweet dreams, and stay thirsty my friends.

From bad, to better, to "hell yeah!"

2009-05-06T19:34:00.003-05:00

So Liz has offered to take me on full time at her studio. Yesterday was my first day training there. I'll finish the month on my regular Wally World schedule, working with Liz on my days off while I train. My next day off is in about a week and a half. (whew!) I'll go full time with her on June 1st. Well, Wally World wasn't keen on the idea of me leaving, to the tune of the personnel manager joking "No, you're not allowed to leave. We won't let you!" So I worked something out with them, and I will still be on part time there. I'll work one of my two days off from Liz's, and/or also short evening shifts stocking the floor, writing names on cakes, and whatnot.

I have also just been flooded with a slew of paying photo gigs, the latest of which has garnered orders totaling several hundred dollars. This is a true instance of "when it rains, it pours."

So... full time job + part time job + occasional gig = mucho dinero for I, your friend and humble narrator. Do you know what this means? It means that roughly by the end of the summer, providing I get Cleveland paid off in a timely fashion, I WILL BE ABLE TO GET A PLACE OF MY OWN AGAIN. You have no idea how thoroughly orgasmic an idea that is to me.

And I also found a wine and spirits store that carries the oh-so-ubiquitous-throughout-Cleveland Genesee Cream Ale! ...and it's still cheaper than dirt, smooth as silk, and sweet as honey. It's the perfect beer.

Life is good. :-)

'Doughnut', or 'donut'? You decide...

2009-04-14T07:11:00.003-05:00

You are now reading the blog of Wally World's latest "doughnut guy". It's actually a decent gig. My supervisor is a really cool guy, and my doughnut co-conspirator(s) are all upbeat and quirky. The shift is from 4am to 1pm, but before you say "ouch", it's not that bad. By the time I get off, I have the whole afternoon to myself. It's 32 hours a week with 8 hour shifts which leaves me with three days off per week.

Aside from lulling myself to sleep at 7 or 8 at night with various combinations of melatonin, a dose of my flexeril, or the big silver sleeping pill (a can of Steel Reserve), getting up that early isn't nearly as painful as it would seem. Getting up at 5 when I worked for Tim Hortons was far more painful because I was tempted to stay up later. Admittedly, the first day I came home and pretty much passed out upright in a chair, but this morning I woke up all bright-eyed and bushy tailed with Dark Haired Girl. Her alarm is set at 6:30 on work/school days, and normally on days off I barely notice anybody has stirred.

Well, aside from when her alarm goes off. It's a clock radio set at full volume, and it's loud enough to wake not only Dark Haired Girl, but also at least half of the residents of the Sugar Grove Road cemetery. Frankly, I'm scared to death of it. Often, I'll wake up just minutes before it's set to go off, and watch nervously as the minutes tick down to detonation.

ANYHOO, back to the job. It's laid back, nobody bugs you, and you get to be creative with the icing and decoration. Turns out I'm handy at piping icing. Yesterday (which was my first morning "flying solo"), my boss reviewed my doughnuts in the case and told me that he's had people working doughnuts for months that didn't look as good as mine.

I pointed at my belly and asked him "Do I look like the kinda brother who takes doughnuts lightly?" Truth be told, I really don't care for them... but it made a good laugh.

---

Liz wants me to come work for her studio. I guess things are really taking off for her, and she needs somebody to do sales appointments and answer phones while she's off shooting. Basically, she needs a secretary, and now my afternoons are free (plus three days a week off) to go work for her too. Plus, if her latest senior marketing ploy succeeds, she'll need another shooter. Hope for photography is not lost! Plus, it'd be cool as hell to work for her.

She's getting married this summer. I promised to her that I wouldn't bring my camera and be that annoying guy who bugs everyone (and the hired photographer), but c'mon, you know me. I am so bringing at least a point-and-shoot. ;-)

----

You know, the news media needs to stop using the word 'blasted' when politicians criticize each other... unless it actually comes down to some good old-skool congressional fist shaking and deep chest bellowing on C-SPAN, or straight up fisticuffs. 'Blast' is too extreme, and its overuse is sucking the intensity out of the word. When I think of a BLAST!, I think of those guys that demolish skyscrapers, mines that obliterate mountainsides in one TNT swoop, Dark Haired Girl's alarm clock, or footage of that burning rocket fuel factory in Nevada that explodes like an atomic bomb.

What I don't think of is some redneck republican's anemic little two-line statement released to CNN expressing disagreement with Obama. That just does not a blast make.

Tee hee!

2009-04-06T16:18:00.004-05:00

So here in this ripe old year of 2009, I (your friend and humble narrator) am finally living out a sort of "guilty pleasure" fantasy. You know, the kind of thing you have always wanted to do, but were too afraid to admit, lest you let slip a peek of the kinks in your carefully crafted public facade?

I, Mr. I-Hate-Hipsters-And-All-They-Stand-For, am sitting in a Panera. Listening to the jazz quietly playing. Smugly tapping away on a Wi-Fi connected laptop. Blogging. (!!!) WITH MY $1.85 COFFEE!

Pretty soon I'll end up with a sport jacket over my t-shirt.

And a liberal sprinkling of the word 'postmodern' in my daily conversation.

And a sudden and inexplicable love of The Magnetic Fields and/or The Moldy Peaches.

... where will it all end??

___

Ooh! I just figured out what that weird little red button in the middle of the keyboard does. I'd been afraid to touch it till now.

2009-03-29T16:36:00.002-05:00

I applied to, and got an interview with, the evil empire and commercial juggernaut that is Wally World. Turns out they have a position open making doughnuts. Full time, 4am to 1pm. That's gonna sting, but I think I can learn to live with the 8 o'clock nightly bedtime. I interview tuesday. Wish me luck.

If all goes well, hopefully in the next few months I'll afford some form of internet access and be online regularly again. I've been taking so many great photos, and I miss posting them. If all goes even well-er, who knows... maybe I'll even be able to get a place of my own by the end of the year. Wouldn't that be peachy? Cleveland was a dry run... a practice adulthood. Time for the real one to begin soon. I'm sick of being thirty and living like a seventeen year old.

I mean, in the three plus years that I've known Dark Haired Girl, on not one single occasion (and family picnics DO NOT count) have I been able to say "Hey, DHG, come on over to my place tonight." Never.

She commented on how changed, confident, and grown up I was after I came back from Cleveland, and I felt it too. But all that has vanished in a poof of fading memory, and I feel like I've reverted to being just the same old dork that I was this time last year.

...only with gray hairs. Which I don't mind. I like finding new ones, and they're appearing with ever-increasing frequency. Soon enough I'll be all Einstein-chic with a big curly messy tangle of shiny silver hair. And I'll gleefully flip off those god-awful Just For Men commercials.

Speaking of hair, What's with Seth Rogen? Just as he brings the whole chubby-guy-with-glasses-and-curly-hair look into vogue (which I just happen to match), he goes buzzed with contacts in his latest movie. Dammit! :-)

2009-03-10T19:58:00.004-05:00

Hi all. Once again, I'm down here at Mom's office for a quick peek online. I'm typing up a price list because tomorrow I'm going to visit a couple and put in a bid to photograph their wedding. This is the first time I've ever actually met for a consultation, and frankly I'm SCARED TO DEATH. See, Liz referred me to them since she is already booked for their weekend, so any impressions I leave on them (good and/or bad) will also reflect on Liz's reputation. So yeah, I'm kinda freaking out a little, but it's a good freak-out. Beats fretting over not having any potential gigs.

Wish me luck.

2009-02-26T12:29:00.002-05:00

Hello again from my Mom's office. Still no internet access but here (and the library, but I owe them a small fortune in late fees before I can get on), and I just wanted to check in with you. You know, just in case you were getting concerned or something. You were worried, weren't you? Oh, poor thing. shhhhh...there there, it's ok.

ANYWAY, I've been cultivating a good friendship with someone I've known for a while, but has previously only associated with through Ruben (Zen Master, and all-around swell guy). She's just started a photography course at a local college, and I've volunteered to be her go-to guy for Q's and A's. We've been hanging around a lot going out and shooting projects, and it's such a trip because I remember going through the same learning pangs that she is now... figuring out aperture and shutter settings, focal lengths, depth of field, equivalent exposures and whatnot. So... without further ado, I introduce Brey (pronounced "bree", like brie cheese) to the cast of characters here on "Treasures". I've been taking tons of great photos, but don't have any way to post them. :-(

Aside from all that, I'm just keeping on with the keeping on. Life has gotten pretty non-eventful since the holidays ended: Wake up, have Mom's Wii Fit tell me I'm obese, maybe work out at the Y, come down here and check the normal gamut of job sites, maybe submit a resume or two, get coffee with Ruben, maybe go out to Dark Haired Girl's place... my standard quotidian routine of late.

I've started volunteering my photography for a local Dayton agency, but am still otherwise struggling for photo gigs, not pulling much bread, and am having snags with the unemployment system. But I still have a roof over my head living with the folks, and I'm trying not to fret too hard over the sorry state of our economy.

It'll get better. It has to. :-)

2009-02-09T14:15:00.003-05:00

Wow... you actually checked in. I feel loved. :-)

I am in digital limbo as my computer is now no longer at Boss Man's, and nobody I know has internet access save for down here on my mom's computer at her print shop. So... this has to be short and sweet as she needs to get back on. Anyhoo, it may be a good while between posts for the time being. I'll keep in touch.

2009-01-18T13:59:00.003-05:00

My beloved L&V had their grand opening last night, so I figured I'd make an appearance (camera in hand of course), have a nice date night with Dark Haired Girl, hang out with Ruben & Co., and maybe pass out some business cards. I played dress-up with my black t-shirt under black striped collar shirt, and (eek!) gel in my hair. Ruben, Brie (left), and Jess (right) had already arrived and snagged a section of the super-comfortable overstuffed leather chairs up on the balcony. I've been in weird head space about going out over the last few weeks, but last night was truly the most fun I've had for as long as I can remember... and I had exactly ice water to drink all night.

I got flagged down by a table of guys, and turns out they're a band needing photos, so we exchanged cards, shook hands on a deal, and I got gig for next saturday night! Anyway, all night long in the chairs behind us, this couple canoodled up on the balcony. As I was standing outside to catch some fresh air and chat with Ruben while he had a smoke, the couple left, but not before stopping for a kiss.

2009-01-15T17:20:00.005-05:00

Hi all! As expected, business with Bossman has dropped to nearly nil post-holidays, and I, your friend and humble narrator, am in a bind as to finding income. I DEARLY wish to stay the hell away from foodservice, although in this economy, Tim Hortons still wants me back. I've been reading a book called "Guerrilla Marketing" in hopes of generating ideas for Bossman, and I figure why not try to employ some of those tactics myself. I think a grassroots marketing blitz may just be in order.

The good news is that I have befriended and made a repeat customer of the new owner of my beloved L&V, and she has already given me several photo gigs to shoot for her and the new website. We're bartering photo sessions for free pizza. It's a good setup... I still have three free pizzas to cash in. :-)

Spent saturday night shooting a rather well known band in the Dayton area, so hopefully that will generate some attention.

Shot a short couple's session for friends Anne and John the other night. I think they'll make nice portfolio pieces.

Shaggy was up from Cincy visiting for the weekend, so as Anne and John were previewing their photos, I set the lights up for a nice dramatic headshot:

---

Getting back to resolutions, yeah... I think I know what mine is: I'm going to market myself more for 2009. I even created a nice tagline for the high school senior market: "Show your seniority with AHP"

(Do I have to put one of those little [TM] doohickeys behind that?)

2009-01-02T09:13:00.009-05:00

Just got back from Michigan where I finally got to meet Dark Haired Girl's family up there, after hearing about them for years now. She's so much like her mother, my eyes just kept darting back and forth between the two, catching all sorts of commonalities... from hand gestures to the way they form certain words with their mouths.

So I guess it has been unusually cold up there, and the pond which normally finishes freezing in January was already frozen a good solid 10 inches down, so I played the guinea pig while the kids watched in anticipation, and I put on my skates. I'd never skated on a pond before, only artificial arenas, and I've always always wanted to. It was so amazing, the bumps and irregular curves of the edge of the water... and the little pops and bumps that resonated off my skate frames. I was in heaven.

Only I would be sweating in 25 degree weather

So all the girls (Dark Haired Girl has adoptive sisters as young as her own daughters) and I were out there either skating or scootching around in shoes, and we took chairs and pushed them around ice, giving the back a good sideways shove and sending them spinning across the surface.

And I got to try venison chops which a neighbor brought over to share. Very tender and delicious... not at all what I'd expected. See, I thought we had a lot of deer around here, but up there, they're as thick as mosquitoes. So hunting is a common part of daily life up there, and driving around you can see all these little ramshackle deer stands just larger than phone booths are all over the place. I personally don't think I could bring myself to actually kill one, and I joked that I don't hunt deer with a rifle, I use a cannon. (cannon -- canon -- my camera.... get it? har har.)

ANYHOO, wouldn't you know, but just as we get back to Troy, Dark Haired Girl's car pops not just one flat, but later in the evening, the back end starts sliding around as the other back tire goes flat as a pancake. I mean, both these tires were totally FUCKED. The steel belt was exposed on the first one, and the entire goddamn tread was about to separate off the other. And to change it, it took Blonde Haired Girl's husband and I about a gallon of penetrant oil and a twenty minutes of beating the rim with wood beams to get it off.

And to think, while we were up there, she and I got lost on the way to her brother's house. There we were in the pitch darkness, totally lost in a network of iced over dirt roads with no houses in sight (but lots of deer), and no cell phone service. If we'd have popped a flat there (and provided we didn't careen off the road) I'd have had to leave her in the car while I hoofed a couple of miles in the middle of winter in Michigan to the nearest farm. And the speed limit up there is a lot higher than down here, so on the highways, we were cruising around 75-80 miles per hour. And we did all that without skipping a beat, and made it back home to Troy just as the tires gave out.

Now, I'm no churchy person, neither do I identify with any particular religion, but you try going through that and not feel like somebody was watching out for you.

---

It's hard to make plans for new year's eve when you start trying around 7pm that very night, and Blonde Haired Girl's husband Ray had a migraine from the seventh circle of hell, so we walked across the yard to their place and got drunk at her table while Ray agonized on the sofa. After the ball dropped, we went back, and then Dark Haired Girl got this weird idea to start cooking, so we spent the rest of the night goofing around in her kitchen.

---

I have been on a pretty good track of keeping my new year's resolutions. Last year, as you may recall, I resolved to be out of my mom's house and in my own place by my thirtieth birthday... and as of August 25th, 2008, I was. The fact that I'm back at Mom's notwithstanding, I'd count that in the "kept" column.

The problem is thinking of one for this year. I was thinking maybe piggybacking off of my resolution two years ago to not let my view camera just gather dust (which it has been doing since I finished school), or maybe not letting my enthusiasm for going to the Y to work out fizzle... but I dunno. I'm having trouble thinking of something inspiring. For the most part, I don't really feel the need to make any grandiose declarations.

Aside from the normal day-to-day bumps in the road, things are going pretty well.

2008-12-19T14:59:00.005-05:00

I don't think that I told you guys yet, but under their scholarship program (and with a 90% discount), I joined the YMCA. See, my back has been hurting since before I left Cleveland, and it hasn't stopped yet. Coupled with the fact that I'm also the heaviest I've ever been... I don't think that's just a coincidence. So... I've made a new best friend: the elliptical machine. Oh my God, that thing kicks my ass...

---

Saz was at the studio the other day, and I was helping him work out some issues with his camera settings. He's a Nikon shooter, but we still like him anyway. :-P Actually, his D200 was a joy to shoot with. It was ergonomic in hand, and his Tamron lens took a surprisingly sharp image.

I'm an abomination in the photography world... a Canon shooter who speaks well of Nikon. It's like being a werewolf bitten by a vampire, or publicly drinking a Pepsi in Atlanta.

Fire and brimstone coming down from the skies! Rivers and seas boiling!
Forty years of darkness! Earthquakes, volcanoes...
The dead rising from the grave!
Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together... mass hysteria!

---

So I'm listening to NPR the other day, and again someone is berating the west, calling us infidels. I just want to ask... is that supposed to hurt my feelings or something?

---

2008-12-13T10:13:00.003-05:00

Now that Dark Haired Girl is living out on the other side of her parents' farm, and there is almost no city light contamination, the night sky truly is an amazing sight. I don't know if anybody else has been blessed by the spectacle, but the last couple of nights have been not only crystal clear, but also with a full moon. For several evenings now, the moonlight has been so bright that not only does it illuminate the midnight landscape to the horizon, but I can actually read a magazine by it. Last night, armed with a wide angle lens borrowed from Bossman, I decided to see what the world looked like when leaving the camera shutter open for thirty seconds at a time.

These photos were taken around 11pm.

I would have taken more, but it was all of 12 degrees outside, and my feet were starting to ache from the cold.

2008-12-07T17:36:00.004-05:00

Hi all!

Things are going ok. Been working with Bossman a lot. Not shooting a whole lot of photos, but rather have been mostly acting as his photo lab tech. Been hanging out a lot with Ruben (Zen Master, and all-around swell guy), and he's actually made a couple of introductions for me that may just bode well for the ol' career in the form of band and fashion/glamor model shoots. I'm excited about that.

A friend asked me to do her Christmas card photos, and these are what we produced:

Nice portfolio pieces, I think.

---

Since returning, I've been really making an effort to jump back into the band scene.

---

Ruben's "home base", so to speak, is the Waffle House. If he's not home, he's there with his requisite cup of coffee, and all his books and pens spread out on the table. Often I'll join him and we'll just be bored, hanging out and BSing with the employees. The other day my trigger finger was itchy, so I brought in the camera and was taking nondescript photos while wondering what I could do with them. I thought that while each individual photo may not amount to much, together as a montage maybe I could capture the feeling of a typical bored night out with friends, hanging out at the Awful Waffle.

Now, the arrangement wasn't completely arbitrary as I tried to make sure two similar photos weren't right next to each other, but otherwise it's pretty random. It was more of an internal exercise with myself because despite that, little patterns, recurring themes, and storyboard narratives started happening as my eyes moved from photo to photo, and I realized that was the whole I'd been searching for that was greater than the sum of its parts. Expect more of these.

2008-11-26T09:09:00.009-05:00

I have fallen into a new addiction over the last several mornings. Now my day isn't complete without my pre-work fix. About a week ago, I woke up early and turned on the TV for some news, and landed on Headline News Network... and their show Morning Express, anchored by this woman:

Robin Meade. Sorry Rachael Ray, but you have been supplanted. I have a new TV girlfriend. Now, there are a million and one really really ridiculously good looking women out there, but for some reason, Robin Meade stands above the crowd. It's a heady blend of attitude and sass balanced with professionalism. It's the dark hair. It's the mischievous little twinkle to her personality... and for God's sake, it's that she's built like a brick house, man! She ain't no skinny minnie; there's some serious substance to her frame. I just want to take a big ol' juicy bite out of those curves of hers like a turkey leg at the Renaissance Festival.

¡Aye chihuahua!

---

*whew!* Ok, back to sanity. Anyway, a friend of Bossman's (and fellow professional photographer) was visiting the studio yesterday, and I asked him to sit as a test subject while I was setting up lights for some yearbook sessions coming in. In the process, I took this portrait:

---

I spent Saturday night shooting bands at the B, and hanging out with Dark Haired Girl. A couple of weekends ago, she moved to a house at the far end of her parents' farm, and now she lives about a half an hour's drive away instead of five minutes. This has created an interesting new dynamic, as access to one another isn't so ready. I think it kind of keeps things regulated, and keeps us from slipping into the "sleepover effect".

You know, like when you'd have marathon sleepovers with your friends as kids, and by the third day together, you'd want to rip each others' heads off?

Anyway, saturday was a date night of sorts. I was "on the job" with Bossman's generous donation of his gear for me to use, but it was also a great night spent NOT MOVING ANYBODY'S HOUSEHOLD together.

---

I got a student loan collection letter from Citi yesterday, the same company that just accepted billions of dollars of government bailout and then announced that it's going to proceed with a $400 million deal for naming rights over the Mets' new stadium. So I'm going to write them a reply:

Dear Citi,

The government just handed you billions on a sterling platter, and you're proceeding to flush hundreds of millions down the toilet to slap your name on a sports building. I just lost my career, and without a luxurious golden parachute from the government. I will pay you when I can, which isn't now.

In the mean time, as a taxpayer, you can take my percentage from the federal handout you just received and apply it to my loan principle.

Sincerely,
Andrew R. Hutchinson

I'm still here...

2008-11-20T09:15:00.002-05:00

... it's just that since I moved my computer to Bossman's office, and he hasn't had work for me since that last post, I really haven't had a whole lot going on. Both Dark Haired Girl and Blonde Haired Girl have moved, so I've moved three households in as many weeks, and I'm SICK OF MOVING. :-)

I've befriended the owners of a recently opened mom 'n pop coffee house, and they would like some prints for their walls, as well as post cards to sell, so that's a chance to get my name out a bit. That, and I'm going to pitch my services to a new manufacturing business that's just finishing construction of their new facility.

I've filed for unemployment. They're begging me to come back to Tim Hortons, but I really want to try to stay a photographer. Once you've held (even if ever so briefly) a well-paying professional career position, it's a truly dismaying thought to go back to being a fast food cashier. But I'm just being a snob. Take away the camera, and I'm just your average unskilled hillbilly with a screwed up back.

So... things are pretty much back to where they were pre-Cleveland, save that my old apartment complex is charging me exorbitant fees for breaking the lease early, and they claim that is hasn't re-rented. I'm going to have somebody call to inquire and see if it really is available or not.

Back to my roots

2008-11-06T11:20:00.003-05:00

So I've been back in Troy for just about a week now, and Bossman has wasted no time in putting me to work. I didn't realize just how uncomfortable I was at the old studio until I came here and could speak freely, hang out in my jeans and sneakers, and just settle in and get the job done. That last place was run less like an outlet for the creative arts, and more like a fine jewelry boutique. Very stifling. I can breathe now.

Shaggy came up with his dad's Sonoma and helped me get all my stuff in one trip, which was a great relief. The very last thing I did was to cast my ballot downtown before hitting I-71 south and putting Cleveland, Ohio in my rear view for the last time.

Goodbye dear Cleveland. I'll miss ya, baby!