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in route to mayhem

Mikey R’s Halloween costume bash was a huge success. I’ve said before that he knows how to throw a party, but this was one for the record books when it came to decorations and what-not. The entire house and yard were packed with festivity… from the spider webs everywhere to the skeletons in the hot tub and monsters hanging in trees to the fog machine smoking the bar up. There was a nice little fire pit and we all sat around telling jokes and sharing libations. Georgia’s priest outfit with the mechanical penis that becomes erect when you squeeze “the balls” was a bigger hit than my pregnant nun, but at least we were pseudo-coordinated. Everyone was in costume and it looked as if they all had put some effort into each disguise. It was a grand time. I don’t think I made it home until almost 4:00 this morning.

me and my partner in crime

Of course, Henry had me up at 7:00 for his breakfast. I feel like I’m getting sick. I wasn’t hung over at all, but I have that pre-cold feeling. I blame lack of rest. Henry is so happy Eclair is home that he spends time with her instead of grunting at me to go play. My plan was to go back to sleep, but I, for whatever reason, am usually unable to make that happen. I did drift off for about 10 minutes, but the phone rang and it was all over. I did some stuff around the house before dressing and hopping on the new bike to meet Ted and Jenny for lunch. We were all attending Avenue Q at the Hobby Center around 2:00 so I picked a spot down in that direction. The show was ok… think Muppets with adult themes. I found myself laugh out loud a few times, but I know I would have enjoyed it much more with a rested head.

going into labor

Houston Texas - Home of the Orange Construction Barrel. WTF is up with all the road closures? As if traffic home wasn’t bad enough, having to take a 30 minute detour due to closing the interstate made it miserable. I wanted to stop at Fry’s on the way and I need some stuff from the store, but by the time I finally got past the block, all I could think about was getting home. Overall, I’ve been completely unproductive today and am exhausted.

loungin’

This is not my original blog post. Once again, this piece of shit publishing system ate my words… evaporated… gone. Even GMail has an applet that auto-saves every few seconds. This hunk-o-shite that I migrated to from the last hunk-o-shite is the touchiest system to date… well, maybe it’s on par with MoveableType. FUCK that pisses me off. The gist of what I wrote (in about one fifth the space and one tenth the detail) was that I had some plans for the weekend and Eclair was coming home tomorrow. I am going to Mike’s costume suaré tomorrow night in Clear Lake as a very pregnan nun. My “date” for the party is my friend Georgia who is going as a priest. We talked about coordinating costumes quite a bit and there were some cool ideas, but I just didn’t want to wear something that I would end up having to explain all night. “Hey mang, what are you supposed to be?” would get excruciatingly old. Ted, Jenny, Miranda, and I are going to Avenue Q on Saturday and I had a Rennesance Festival invite for Sunday, but I’m going to pass this time. It’s really cool, but I have a lot to do this weekend before my trip (business). Eclair gets to come home tomorrow after three pee emm. Henry will be ecstatic, I’m sure. Barrett, Jennifer, and Georgia are coming to my house for Halloween evening to pass out candy. Barrett is dressing as a giant taco this year which will either amuse or completely scare the shit out of the little kids. Georgia and I carved a pumpkin for the event since I have no other Halloween decorations to put out. Not bad for a first “real” attempt, eh? (at the bottom) Anyhoo, I’m really tired. I stayed out way too late last night and was up too early this morning. There was a big get-together at Front Porch Pub for Barrett and some of his ex-coworkers. The weather was really nice, so I drove down and met them after I got off work. Sam showed up on his way home and one thing led to another… late night. We ate somewhere in there at Cyclone Anaya’s with the intent to go to Sammy’s afterwards. The jazz venue was closed, so we cabbed it to Pub Fiction and ended the evening at the bar. I think the buckets of beer, shots, and frozen screwdrivers at FPP were contributors, but the straw that broke the camel’s back was the Crazy Mexican from Cyclone’s. Holy shit that is a strong drink. My entomologist (and good friend) neighbors are heading to the valley tomorrow for the butterfly migration. I wanted to go, but already had RSVP’d the Mike thing and the off broadway deal, so I’m going to get to hear about all the fun later. It’s late and I’m headed to bed. I still can’t believe I lost that post… AGAIN. Seriously, there is just something wrong with that…

official cameraphone documentation

I went to a local Harley dealer to look into their riding safety course and this little number caught my eye, so I bought it. The end. I called and checked on Eclair again today and they tell me she is doing fine. I can pick her up on Friday after 3:00 pee emm. The weather is fabuloso. Sam donated some pre-cut wood yesterday so I could do a chimanea shin-dig on the patio last night. I love hanging out back and sipping on gin and juice around the fire. It seems there was something else I wanted to say, but like many things these days, it eludes me. 

When someone says, ”hey, I’ve got good news and bad news… what do you want first?”, what do you normally say? It’s arbitrary really… assuming you will get both regardless. I found out this morning that I’ll likely get some sort of raise come January. This doesn’t mean much until I actually see it, but it was encouraging to hear “good” news in the wake of such “bad” news this weekend. My sweet baby Éclair was diagnosed with heartworms on Friday. I took the critters in for annual checkups and shots on Thursday morning before my Austin trek. Henry received 3 new meds for his little intestinal issue and a special food for sensitive stomachs (low residue). Friday afternoon, I went back in to deliver a king sized turd from his highness to ship off to the lab and received the news Éclair’s heartworm test returned positive. I drove home and gathered her to have more blood draw to disprove a false positive that night. Saturday, it was confirmed. Both dogs are on Heartgard brand preventative and I can’t think of when they would have been vulnerable unless I somehow missed a month earlier in the year. The vet says she may have thrown up a dose, but I don’t recall her ever being sick. My father told me his dogs are all on Heartgard and he just found out his Fox Terrier, Tiger, has heartworms. I’m not pointing the finger at Heartgard… just accepting that it’s likely not 100% effective… you know, like birth control pills and condoms. Heh. Anyway, the long and the short of it is: Éclair is undergoing a nasty treatment for heartworms as I type this persnickety poop. I delivered her this morning to the vet where she must stay for 7 days. She can come home for 3 weeks and then it all has to be done again… 7 days on site, 3 weeks home. One final visit for a couple of days is required to ensure everything was successful and, if all the labs are clean at that point (2 or so months later), then she gets a clean bill of health. Poor baby. Henry was home alone for some time today while daddy worked far away. He didn’t cry when I left. He only gave me “the look” of abandonment and confusion. When I got home however, he went positively apeshit. I can only assume it is because the realization of his situation sunk in at some point and, although they say animals have little concept of temporal passage, he was lonely for longer than usual. My weekend, other than Éclair’s situation, was pleasant. I went out for dinner and drink with friends on Friday. I attended a bar-b-q cookout on Saturday and the weather was splendid. The clutch work was complete on my motorcycle, so she and I spent some time on the road this weekend. I love the cooler weather. Autumn has always been my favorite season. I’ve been in fairly good spirits even through the low spots. I need to get in the gym or do something to stay active. This desk job and my love affair with Mexican food and whiskey is giving me handles I don’t need in places I don’t want. Other than that, I’m alive. 

I think blog publishing platforms should have a checkmark next to each “publish” button that designates whether the poster was drunk or sober when writing the post. I literally laughed out loud when I saw a GMail notice this morning that a new blog post had been made and I didn’t remember writing anything last night… at all. Maybe it was good we quit early. LMAO. Anyhoo, I’m back home. I stopped and picked up the pups from Georgia’s house on the way and they were soooooo happy to see me. It made me all smiley. The trip was pretty straight forward… drive to Austin after work, get your face rocked off by Chevelle, have a few drinks on 6th, crash on the super-extra-comfy beds they have at the Hilton Garden a block away, drive back in the morning for work. That’s pretty much how it played out with the exception of me requiring a caffeine stop on the way there that led to the highlight of the travel portion of the adventure. There was a tall, lanky dude that vaguely had a Napolian Dynomite look to him on the grassy corner between CiCi’s Pizza and Walmart in Brenham. This is the area you have to drive past to get to the Starbuck’s drive-thru. So, here is the kitch… he was dancing. I don’t mean baby dancing… I mean full on spins and leg kicks and gettin’ his groove on dancing. He was dancing non-stop the entire time we were near. The guy at the coffee shop said he is there everyday… all day… dancing non-stop like a mad man. He danced so much that the circle around him approximately the radius of his spread legs was barren… all dirt without a blade of grass to be found. Every bit of ground outside the circle was plush and green. It was simultaneously the coolest and nerdiest thing I’ve seen in a long time. If you are ever in Brenham, drive out to the Walmart and see if the CiCi’s Pizza dancin’ fool is out there… he rocks.

Barrett is contacting the booking agent for Chevelle to see how much it would cost to book them for our birthday bash this August. I think it’s going to be north of 100 grand, but he thinks it’ll be less. We’ll see. The temp in H-Town is supposed to drop to 59 Fahrenheit tonight. I’m so excited I think a little pee just came out.

At the beginning of the night I felt old. Barrett and I drove after work to Austin to catch Chevelle at Stubb’s. The whole town is absolutely crawling with young college folks attending UT… unfortunately, the female variety are the most noted. I always told Erin… “the best ting about being a dirty old man is that you get dirtier and older by the second”. Anyhoo, despite having a libido that would put most of these little whatchamadoodles in the hospital, I was there for a concert and nothing more… or so I thought. The show was incredible. The Chevelle brothers rocked the house and then some. After the show, we met a bunch (and I mean *a bunch*) of Barrett’s friends on 6th street. They were all much much younger than me but one. By chance, it was his (the peer) birthday tonight. I felt right at home buying him some birthday libations. So, long story short, I thought we were going to hang on 6th and shut the bars down, et al… *cough*… I was oh so wrong. They all cowered and ran home to hide under the covers. I feel robbed. A fantabulous show followed by nothing less than premature ejaculation on the 6th street scene. I guess no one parties like they used to… especially when it’s there all the time to partake. Barrett is passed out in the room and I’m feeling like this trip was built up way more in my mind than it should have been. Even though the concert was RYFOLAMF, I am left feeling like I should have stayed and watched DVR’d shit from my couch. At least my babies are safe and sound at Georgia’s house while I’m away. Tomorrow can’t come fast enough for me to speed home. This trip was less than optimal.

Oh yeah. I forgot. So this week has been as any other… one day succeeds the previous as we rotate around the Sun and the hands on the clock follow the spin on our axis. Such is life… as small or as big as you wish to make it. I spent a quiet weekend away this past and found toes in the sand near the land of my youth with waves crashing around my pale, white ankles and gulls overhead laughing at the breeze. My work is steady and the success comes and goes. I find comfort in whiskey and the sweet hair of my Henry smelling of “flowers, sunshine, and strawberries”. Events come and go and details escape me before I find the energy to write them here. The gist is I still, against all odds, breath and my heart, with great effort, beats. Tomorrow is another day.

The thick smoke found refuge on the surface of her cheek in the wake of gravity propelled teardrops that have forgotten why they were before they reached the overpriced lapel of her jacket designed by someone important last week to everyone who is someone, but currently unknown to all. If words were weapons, his were razor sharp with unerring aim… stopping long enough at each closet’s skeleton to drag them along and courier them straight into her heart. The soft jazz danced in and out of the serene forest surrounding the clearing hosting the battle as it unfolded. Excuses were made to powder noses and heed mother nature’s call by those in proximity to avoid shrapnel and collateral damage. The music didn’t mind the attrition. She gasped for breath, calculating her next move, and he braced himself behind a raised tumbler strengthened by the last drop of single malt rolling across it’s lip to his. No words were further spoken. The skin of her cheek pulled tightly as the wet skin dried beneath the vent above their table. He was gathering his coat and throwing loose bills amidst plates holding their partially eaten meal and tealight candle votives that too no longer remembered why they burned. It was too late for anything but silence. The music played on in the void. She felt everything… she felt nothing. 

Umm...

pee ess. No. That is not Henry.

Sushi at Redfish again tonight. As a dear friend would say… “yummadoo!”. They do this seared tuna thing with maguro steaks hand rolled in a seasoning and then sealed up with a handheld propane blowtorch that is fantastic. Take all the pretension out of seared Ahi and mix that with some sashimi grade fish and some herbal flavoring and you get… well, yummadoo. A couple of rolls and a couple of sakes later and I find myself at the 24 hour grocery looking for supplies resembling food. Grocery shopping is one of the most depressing things a widower can do. It is absolutely a prime environment for bombardment with a myriad of painful nostalgia from a previously happy domestic life. Some isles are more poignant than others. Nevertheless, I survived the ordeal and yet again was amazed at how such little, by volume, crap could amount to so much, by numeric value, money. Grocery shopping, all emotion aside, is a fucking racket. Henry was happy to see that dad brought home more cheese and carrots… both of which he is enamoured with beyond description. I bought a bunch of things that I could arguably do without, but seemed to be necessities at the time EVEN THOUGH I was shopping wisely on a full tummy. That was premeditated. I found these tiny, baby bottles of Gatorade that I had to have. They are good for hangovers (with BC Powder) and refreshment after the sex I’m not having. I worked most of the day pre-sushi, so there isn’t much to say outside of being disappointed in the photography situation. I ran across a sneak-peek link to some pre-Rev3 release stuff coming out next month in EVE, but that won’t interest 99.9% of y’all. Most things I can’t benefit from anyway (like the Black Ops and Tech II improvements), but it’s still nice to know development is ongoing. I am fairly certain I remembered to DVR House tonight, so I’m off to watch that before bed. Toodles.

Every frame I make is a stale attempt at keeping my shutter finger from atrophying. Of all the genres of photography out there, I love each and every one, but the one that gives me the most pleasure is landscape above all else. My fascination with the hidden world revealed by macro photography is ever present. The challenge of capturing the human face and form is a technical adventure as much an art. The nuances of product and still life are certainly intriguing, but landscape remains king. Capturing the beauty of our precious planet remains the most fulfilling for me… emotionally, spiritually, and mentally. I’ve not made a landscape frame I was remotely happy with since long before Erin passed. Much of it has to do with disinterest in life and travel… things aren’t the same for me. I know half the shot is just being there… it always has been… yet I never go. I just look at archived crap and wish things were different.

Why do I bring this up, you ask? Because I don’t spend 200 days in the field a year creating what I love… because I don’t have a single Singh-Ray that I’ve been pining over for 4 years because I would just waste them in a bag on the floor of my studio… because I realized today, when I found Marc Adamus, that I have made zero progress at becoming a better photographer and am humbled by his work. IMHO, by comparison, I suck and I have no one to blame but myself.

(Thanks for the link, Sean.)

My mind is fuzzy. I haven’t stayed up, much less out, until near dawn in a long time. I can hang with the young’ins as well as I ever could… it’s the recovery that fucks me up. Fortunately, this is a three day weekend and I’ve been able to sleep a lot without rushing into the pre-work mode that always rears it’s ugly head Sunday night. There is a sniglet for that, but I forget. Friday I had a nice, low key dinner at Bistro Provence. Saturday ended up being an all nighter. There was a party at The Big Easy amidst a great live blues band that moved to taqueria Tapatia when we closed the joint down. I think it was close to 5:00 when I made it to the sack. Sunday was a day of recovery. I ended up buying some new BluRays and spent the evening making assprints on my couch with a remote nearby. I naturally stayed up later than I wanted to because of all the sleep that day trying to mend myself… this in turn made me sleep in today (an observed holiday this year in the floating pool) which means I’ve not accomplished anything. I’m hungry. I’m thirsty. I need coffee. All of which I plan to fix as soon as I can drag my arse into the shower and get dressed.

Oh look… a photo from the libations depicting my newly chunky hair not yet documented here:

Barrett, Jennifer, and me

anolis carolinensis - 65mm, 1/250s, f/16, 2:1 (via extension), ISO100

My first macro attempt post-op on the eyes. I’ve tried few times to make some frames, but my right eye always feels a little strained afterwards (I am right eye dominant and use it primarily through the viewfinder). I just need some more time. I met Ed for a bite to eat last night before going over to my neighbor’s for poker night. Henry, although not back to 100%, he’s on the up and up and I think he’s feeling much better. I’m looking forward to the 3-day weekend. Columbus Day just happened to fall into the rotation this year, so I’m off Monday. The thought of this makes it hard for me to concentrate on work. The weather is incredible. One step outside and you can just feel that autumn is upon us. The fall is my favorite season of them all. I’m going to call the mechanic today and see how far out to expect the clutch work on my motorcycle to be… the cool morning air is calling me.

I’ve been aloof. I know. A couple of nights ago, Henry started acting unusual. By the next morning, he was not himself at all… lethargic, coughing, reverse sneezing, displayed trouble eating, etc. I thought he was having an allergic reaction to something… perhaps a plant in the yard he decided to taste? I drive him to CVS and picked up some Benadryl and administered with hopes he would come around. By the evening, he was still looking miserable and we were off to the vet. Happy that he could see us on short notice and so late in the day, I just wanted him to say everything was going to be ok, but he couldn’t find the problem. Since all the procedures to dig further into a diagnosis at this point were not only complicated, but also slightly dangerous, we opted to treat the symptoms first and then see if things changed. Soooo, $120 in three types of meds later, we started drawing our calendar to help daddy remember what was given, at what time, on what day. Fast forward a couple of days into treatment and he seems to be in better spirits, but still not 100% himself. I’m going to just keep an eye on his behavior as we finish out the pills over the next week. I don’t want any unnecessary poking and prodding going on that can be avoided. I try to think about what Erin would do and not what I would do. It’s easy for me to see another person’s child with blood squirting out of a severed artery and just say, “squirt some Windex on it”, but when it’s your own baby, my natural tendency is to the be the knee jerk reacting parent flying in the specialist from Helsinki. Other than snuggling my mending little man, I’ve pretty much still been busy with work. I hit 100% of my annual quota just before the third quarter ended, so I’m on the gravy train with biscuit wheels the rest of the calendar year. Anything above plan is bittersweet as far as I’m concerned… short term earning potential, but long term quota stick in the pooper come January 1. I’m just happy to have hit my goal early. My eyes are doing great… better than I would have expected for having laser beams shot into my eyeballs and vaporizing flesh. I have a small hematoma on my left eye (in the white part) that looks like I got in a fight and someone popped me with a hook. It seems to be slowly shrinking, but maybe I just want it to and am seeing what I want. I know, logically, that it is healing, but it is taking a long time. It helps strangers know I got LASIK… because everyone I meet says, “ewe… what happened there?”. Hehe. Conversation piece that hurt less than a Great White taking 15 pounds of flesh from my abdomen and leaving a huge scar (of course, the love handles wouldn’t be missed and the popular cliché is ”chicks dig scars”). 

What a terrible day to not be an Aussie. I feel hormonal.