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“I’ll read Bukowski in the gutter
With a hooker on each arm
And a wine bottle up my ass,
I’ll make you smoke the majesty
Of my impending mullet,
I’ll suck the formaldehyde out of the jar
Holding Kurt Cobain’s brain
While using Hemingway’s shotgun barrel as a straw,
Before I let you touch my soul.” - Whammo

Yes folks, I’m in a particularly playful mood at the moment, so I thought I would share a rare mullet photo scanned from my 1988-ish Malibu Grand Prix Virage Racing License. The curly locks resting on my shoulders are several inches shorter than the fully erect mullet in the center of my back accentuated by the NASCAResque “bangs”. This photo was taken in Austin, TX. I was still a teenager and was deeply in love with my high school sweetheart, Jessica. Life was simple and I never really knew, understood, or appreciated things then the way I do now all these years later. Compartively innocent. I don’t even know who that guy is… but he’s got a hilarious coif atop his hormonally charged head.

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to he man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows the triumph of high achievement; and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew niether victory nor defeat.” - TR

The 4th was wet… everywhere. It has not appreciably stopped raining and I ended up taking a longer route home from my mother’s because the path normally taken was submerged. I’m home and meloncholy, but I don’t think it’s the weather. The rain is quite nice up until it begins to damage my lawn. I cut down a Tallow tree at the back corner of my yard and dug the root ball up as best I could with the tools on hand. It is being replaced by a Gardenia this weekend (or perhaps tomorrow). It’s still raining and I’m exhausted. Even though I’m technically “off work” today, I’ve been working on and off all morning. I think I’m going to try to nap.

I am not a Photographer.

Photographers carry around big cameras, big lights, big flash contraptions and little meters, they talk about film stock, ISO’s, F stops and capturing the perfect light right before dusk.

Photographers creep through neighborhoods of poor people looking for interesting poverty related things to “capture” in black and white or muted color.

Photographers spend lots of time in cramped dark rooms with red lights and chemicals that smell like egg farts.

Photographers get in heated exchanges about the direction Leica is headed or that one camera maker that sounds all german, hasselhoff?

Photographers have lots of lenses that they will tell you about whether you ask them or not, like the one that can see an ass hair on a mosquito or the remarkably “bright” one that can photograph the pope’s underwear tag from a tower in hell.

Photographers say “glass” a lot, “Thats a nice piece of glass you got there Danny.” which would be funny if it was a joke. No it wouldn’t.

Photographers show you shoes hanging on wires, pink boxes in the green weeds, little black girls with blue eyes and nuns sitting under billboards of naked men.

Photographers have all kinds of cameras, most of them are rare and vintage but they love to remind you that their absolute favorite cameras are crappy plastic cameras they found at the thrift store for 25 cents.

Photographers LOVE Polaroid because you can take a picture of absolutely ANYTHING with a Polaroid and it will look like you got your BFA.

Photographers know the names of every other photographer who ever lived and they can tell you exactly who took the first picture of an old barn door or a naked girl on a sofa.

Photographers talk about how little they use photoshop IF AT ALL, and even then it’s only to “adjust some curves” or “make the blacks a little more black.”

Photographers make use of make up artists, hairdressers, location scouts and stylists which is way way WAY different than photoshopping out zits and wrinkles.

Photographers freeze moments to show the REALITY. They love that word, “reality” also they like to say “RAW” a lot.

Photographers have websites with big black or red sans serif fonts on white backgrounds.

Photographers put their client list at the bottom of the side bar where it looks like they don’t really care about it but just in case you didn’t like their photographs you can see who did.

Photographers list their accomplishments in a timeline so just in case you didn’t like their photographs you can see who did. Wait, did I just say that?

Photographers have strong opinions about Terry Richardson.

Photographers get upset about cropping.

Photographers like the anticipation, surprise, expense, delay, grain, smell, challenge, discipline, texture, and overall unpredictable “magic” of analog, soo opposite of effing digital.

Photographers use the word amateur to describe most other photographers.

Photographers miss the good old days when photography was expensive and out of reach to amateurs.

Photographers blame the lab a lot.

Photographers go to school to study photography because you can’t tell if a photo is good just by looking at it.

Photographers whisper cutting edge poetic gems like “digital has no soul.”

Photographers only really like 2 or 3 other photographers, the one’s whose photographs most resemble their own and they like to keep those books right out on the coffee table where everyone can see them.

Photographers think all commentary about photography and photographers is likely directed at them.

So yeah, I don’t give a stumbling poop about any of that stuff.

I’m not a photographer.

- Merkley???

Arrrrrg. I went to bed at 3:30 and got up at 4:30 to get ready for the airport. I drove through nasty, stormy weather only to fly in nasty, stormy weather immediately afterwards. My day was spent in a huge conference room with a fancy schmancy ceiling-mounted overhead projector and a motorized white screen that comes down from the a long slit where the room’s sides converge. One whole wall of the room was frosted plate glass from floor to sky and the movie-stage-big oak table splitting the spine of the cavern was keep warm along all edges with little 98.6 degree participants. I was so tired, but the words just kept coming out… rolling off my lips and down my arm onto the black thingy with buttons, then marching up the beam of laser light to pop on the screen where it punctuated the surfaces of a pixelated Power Point. I ate terrible Mexican food at a deceptively unauthentic Tex-Mex restaurant in the home of mudbugs and Hurricanes. I weaved to and fro amongst the Cajun natives to find a standby flight back home. Overstuffed, hot, smelly, and entirely too long for my heavy eyes… somehow, I survived. The road home was a blur. I think there were lines and toll booths, but it seems so far away on this side of a power nap. Mildly refreshed, my evening can now begin.

Cheerio.

“Well, I’m a mushroom-cloud-layin’ motherfucker, motherfucker! Every time my fingers touch brain, I’m Superfly T.N.T., I’m the Guns of the Navarone!” - Jules

Damnit. I really was hoping I was past this insomnia thing. I slept well the last few nights of the week because I took some OTC sleep aid (Target brand) even if later than I probably should have, but the weekend was more of the same… late nights. I have to fly early tomorrow and I’m not the least bit tired. My mind is racing with a myriad of thoughts… like how I love the Theme Time Radio Hour with Bob Dylan or how I can’t remember the vintage of Châteauneuf-du-Pape I liked so much a few years back. Randomness. I watched this ridiculous movie (well, most of it) while channel surfing and waiting for sleepytime. It was about these people stranded on some deserted island and how they interacted in the midst of their situation. Ironically, I thought of people I know if real life that are going through their own personal issues and how that affects the way they treat those around them… I wonder how much of my struggle over the last year was projected on those around me. It was never intended if any, but I can understand how difficult it is to keep things separated. The burden I carry is my own and there is no one at fault or that can change what has happened, so there is no reason to treat anyone in my life differently now even if I feel as if I’ve become another man.

“when I’m gone like yesterday
when I’m high like heaven
when I’m strong like music
cuz I’m slow like honey, and
heavy with mood” - Fiona Apple

After the movie rolled credits, I still was completely awake. I ate some leftover steak that I’d grilled on the patio earlier for dinner. Cooking for one is only slightly more difficult than shopping at the grocery store for one. They go hand in hand really. Umm… yeah. So, have you ever heard a tune that just stuck to you? You can’t get it out of our head until you give it its stage and let it speak. I impulse ordered a CD tonight because of that phenomenon. People that know me know I’m an aspiring impulse shopper anyway, but this was obscure… even my boy, Google, didn’t know much about the artist. It was like Googling an original song by the garage band in your neighborhood that keeps your dog barking at night. I’ll give you the full report when it arrives.

“i really like to ride the train
especially when i forget where i’m going
i really like the way it feels
the motion of the wheels” - Dan “the Automator” Nakamura a.k.a.  “Nathaniel Merriweather” from “Music to Make Love to Your Old Lady By” (you see what I mean… shit!)

In case you haven’t seen it… Google Maps has this cool new ‘drag and drop’ feature to modify your route. Really slick. That must be why their stock is $522 and I own none of it. I dig the company despite and how it owns success in a predominantly Machiavellian corporate America with fresh ideas and approaching old problems with a neopragmatic spin. Let them eat cake. I don’t know why that popped into my head. I’m not even remotely close to looking for or needing directions at nearly three-ish in the morning. It’s still cool.

The Secret
Many truths float through life never finding validation in breath,
but they’re true just the same and no closer to death.
Ageless and absolute are but a few,
But one stands out that I’d like to share with you.
Behind each man that knows success and prosperity,
is the love of a woman given freely and charitably.
Whether a mother’s son whose morals and actions tell true
the love that she gave him as he stumbled and grew,
or a passing acquaintance, a lover, or wife,
whose love keeps him warm amongst cold men and cold nights
these men that find the strength to persevere when most fail
and champion the mightiest when they seem weaker and frail
are the men that know greatness beyond me and perhaps you
these are the men who awaken to woman’s ”I love you.”

I never write anymore… anything. I mean, this rubbish about how I spent my weekend or what I ate for lunch may be real and offer incite to my gastronomic preferences, but it’s hardly worth the pixels on the screen. I used to write short stories and poetry. I used to express and share. It’s easier to be luke warm, bland, and gray than any other color in the spice cabinet. Do you think there is the possibilty that action does not exist? Perhaps there is only reaction… and everything that happens and everything we do is a direct result of some environmental or sociopsychological event… and we all feed off each other to exist if for just the ability to provide someone else with something for which to live their next (re)action. If that were true, there would be no blind, deaf, mutes in the world. Although grand in so many ways, I don’t think one can live on touch alone. Honestly, I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about. It must be late.

“you scream and you holler about my chevy impala
but the sweat is getting wet around the ring around your collar
but like a dream i’m flowing without no stopping
sweeter than a cherry pie with ready whip topping” - Mike D

I’ve had my eye on this for a while. I almost ordered it this week, but I didn’t want it to come while I was out of town and sit on the porch. The catch is, I’d need a sturdier tripod and head to support the glass. Not everyone can enjoy Tom’s success as a wildlife photographer, but I know for a fact that a lot of the imagery is not obtainable with reach. The voice of reason always nags at me. At the end of the day, it’s going to fall into the “toy” catagory like a mid-life-crisis sports car. Although I’ve actually licenses some of my photography this fiscal year, I’m far from moving the volume requisite of the title “Professional”.

Hrm. Yesh. I think I’ll take this opportunity to mindlessly surf the web until my eyes get heavy and I find my way to the big, lonely bed. Bon nuit.

“All I can do is be me, whoever that is.” - Bob Dylan

Sam: There’s all these words for a woman who doesn’t want to have sex: frigid, uptight, cold, icy. But can you like even think of one word for a man that doesn’t want to have sex?

Danny: Dead?

Other than preparing for 3.5 weeks of moderate chaos at work, I’ve not been up to much of anything other than the occasional movie here or there from the couch. I repotted my plumeria when it began to bloom last week and bought some other fragrant flora for the yard, but I’m not yet sure where to plant. I need to put some serious time into weeding the loriapy and trimming the hedges in the yard. The Chinese witchhazel is getting unruly. The weekend went by fairly quickly despite most of it having been spent indoors due to the inclimate weather. The rain is incessant. I went to Mercer Arboretum briefly yesterday afternoon, but the heat and humidity stifled my desire to photography anything. I tried to give Henry another summer trim this evening, but he grew restless, so we’re on part one of two. Maybe I can finish it up tonight before bed. As of today (July 1), I am no longer working for the management infrastructure I have been for the last 2 and almost a half years. Today I work for a new arm of the company. Time will tell how positive the unrequested change will become, but topically, it doesn’t appear to be a bad move (yet). My mom is flying up in the morning to petsit the kids while I’m in Louisiana on business tomorrow. I have to be at the airport by 5:45 in the morning. Not fun.