Eddy is going to be a famous model.
Libby and I are entering these photos, and I swear if he doesn't win I'll...quit life.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Eddy Utah
Eddy is going to be a famous model.
Libby and I are entering these photos, and I swear if he doesn't win I'll...quit life.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
September
Today I said goodbye to September.
True, some days I said I wanted to sleep through this month. It hasn't treated me the way I would expect a favorite to—sometimes it almost felt like February. But one doesn't alway love a thing because of how nice it is, or because it earns it. Sometimes you love something simply because it exists, because it's a part of you. When I looked at the calendar and saw tomorrow, I realized that today holds so much of finality, of things needing to be put to rest.
So I took a drive. I chose a route I don't travel every day but that is still dimly familiar. It began as something of a stress reliever, with wind in my hair and the music turned up loud. Soon, however, I started to see things that pulled the full weight of farewell firmly into my thoughts.
I saw hints of deep colors, muted by the lateness of the season, and receded waters that spoke of more abundant times. I saw pockets of intense, unexpected storms, with painful jabs of lightening and blood-tinged clouds—like those days when the cold came suddenly and reached all the way to my heart, when the emptiness filled my bones without words and without touch, and I knew the coming winter would be the coldest I've weathered. Those storms fought for my attention, but they were surrounded by mild, comforting, everyday sky to draw my eyes away.
I followed winding roads, sometimes expecting the curves ahead and at times being surprise by how sharply they cut through the scenery. I recognized that shoreline, that peak, that wandering path. I glanced at that arbitrary roadside stall, and the significance of it took my breath away.
As the sun set on my scene, I wished for more. More light, more warmth, more of the colors I can now only illuminate with my imagination. Eventually I yielded, and said goodbye to something so beautiful—how achingly beautiful I can never convey, no matter how well you think you know these parts.
I am infinitely sad to see it go, but I hope there will be other Septembers...or, at the least, a few great Octobers.
True, some days I said I wanted to sleep through this month. It hasn't treated me the way I would expect a favorite to—sometimes it almost felt like February. But one doesn't alway love a thing because of how nice it is, or because it earns it. Sometimes you love something simply because it exists, because it's a part of you. When I looked at the calendar and saw tomorrow, I realized that today holds so much of finality, of things needing to be put to rest.
So I took a drive. I chose a route I don't travel every day but that is still dimly familiar. It began as something of a stress reliever, with wind in my hair and the music turned up loud. Soon, however, I started to see things that pulled the full weight of farewell firmly into my thoughts.
I saw hints of deep colors, muted by the lateness of the season, and receded waters that spoke of more abundant times. I saw pockets of intense, unexpected storms, with painful jabs of lightening and blood-tinged clouds—like those days when the cold came suddenly and reached all the way to my heart, when the emptiness filled my bones without words and without touch, and I knew the coming winter would be the coldest I've weathered. Those storms fought for my attention, but they were surrounded by mild, comforting, everyday sky to draw my eyes away.
I followed winding roads, sometimes expecting the curves ahead and at times being surprise by how sharply they cut through the scenery. I recognized that shoreline, that peak, that wandering path. I glanced at that arbitrary roadside stall, and the significance of it took my breath away.
As the sun set on my scene, I wished for more. More light, more warmth, more of the colors I can now only illuminate with my imagination. Eventually I yielded, and said goodbye to something so beautiful—how achingly beautiful I can never convey, no matter how well you think you know these parts.
I am infinitely sad to see it go, but I hope there will be other Septembers...or, at the least, a few great Octobers.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Old Beyond Years
...Tears For Fears.
I told someone the other day that something I said was an inside joke with myself and they thought it was weird. Is that weird? I have LOTS of those.
Anyway, it feels like forever since I had the writing bug, and here it is! Probably very boring for most people but here are the thoughts of late:
I'm finding that life is a simple process of turning into one big cliche. When you're a kid, you don't sit back and wish for the good ol' days. When you're still a kid but old enough to know what people mean when they wish for the good ol' days, you swear you'll never be like that. At some point, major life milestones start happening, and no amount of proclaiming them weird or surreal changes the fact that you are indeed growing older, and you are in fact living all those scenarios you most surrealy imagined.
Point is, I feel old. Some great shift has taken place in the last year or so, and suddenly I'm remarking that summers feel shorter than they used to; good friends don't keep in touch like they used to; my body doesn't happily take a beating like it used to.
I'm 26.
26 isn't old, by logical standards. By 14-year-old mentality standards, however, it's ancient. And while I claim a certain amount that immaturity, I never anticipated that at age 26 I would pull a muscle doing routine things like, say...shopping. Or that I would gaze at a toddler and be overcome with amazement--and jealousy--at the amount of energy they possess.
I never dreamed I'd so unmistakably notice things changing.
I've watched my father, over the years, become more emotional, more appreciative, more drink-in-the-moments minded. Maybe it was his heart attack--Maybe it's the increase in grandchildren. Maybe it's just plain aging. Whatever it is, it seems that we soften as we go. Things mean more. I feel it more profoundly when I am hurt, or when someone I love is hurt. I have less tolerance for the violence and cruelty I see in the world around me. I wonder more often if I'm doing what I should and being someone who matters. I am so keenly aware of the moments that result in happy memories...and of those that will teach me something difficult.
If I feel like this at 26, I can't imagine 46, 66, and beyond. I'll probably spend all my time remarking about how strange it is that I'm 46, 66, and beyond. Or about those days when gas was $4.25 a gallon. Or about how weird it is that I used to never think I'd find it exhausting to sleep in a tent and hike and eat granola bars and get sunburned but now I do.
I want the wisdom of age and the vitality of youth. I guess that's what everybody wants, but that's not the plan. Maye I'll settle for the ability to do the splits. And stay up all night for fun. And work a minimum wage job with summers off.
Maybe you grow old and look back on your life and wonder if it all really happened. And a small part of you wonders if it was all really that short, that amazing, and that meaningful. In truth, it probably wasn't. But age lends meaning to everything.
So I guess I welcome the rose-colored lenses.
I told someone the other day that something I said was an inside joke with myself and they thought it was weird. Is that weird? I have LOTS of those.
Anyway, it feels like forever since I had the writing bug, and here it is! Probably very boring for most people but here are the thoughts of late:
I'm finding that life is a simple process of turning into one big cliche. When you're a kid, you don't sit back and wish for the good ol' days. When you're still a kid but old enough to know what people mean when they wish for the good ol' days, you swear you'll never be like that. At some point, major life milestones start happening, and no amount of proclaiming them weird or surreal changes the fact that you are indeed growing older, and you are in fact living all those scenarios you most surrealy imagined.
Point is, I feel old. Some great shift has taken place in the last year or so, and suddenly I'm remarking that summers feel shorter than they used to; good friends don't keep in touch like they used to; my body doesn't happily take a beating like it used to.
I'm 26.
26 isn't old, by logical standards. By 14-year-old mentality standards, however, it's ancient. And while I claim a certain amount that immaturity, I never anticipated that at age 26 I would pull a muscle doing routine things like, say...shopping. Or that I would gaze at a toddler and be overcome with amazement--and jealousy--at the amount of energy they possess.
I never dreamed I'd so unmistakably notice things changing.
I've watched my father, over the years, become more emotional, more appreciative, more drink-in-the-moments minded. Maybe it was his heart attack--Maybe it's the increase in grandchildren. Maybe it's just plain aging. Whatever it is, it seems that we soften as we go. Things mean more. I feel it more profoundly when I am hurt, or when someone I love is hurt. I have less tolerance for the violence and cruelty I see in the world around me. I wonder more often if I'm doing what I should and being someone who matters. I am so keenly aware of the moments that result in happy memories...and of those that will teach me something difficult.
If I feel like this at 26, I can't imagine 46, 66, and beyond. I'll probably spend all my time remarking about how strange it is that I'm 46, 66, and beyond. Or about those days when gas was $4.25 a gallon. Or about how weird it is that I used to never think I'd find it exhausting to sleep in a tent and hike and eat granola bars and get sunburned but now I do.
I want the wisdom of age and the vitality of youth. I guess that's what everybody wants, but that's not the plan. Maye I'll settle for the ability to do the splits. And stay up all night for fun. And work a minimum wage job with summers off.
Maybe you grow old and look back on your life and wonder if it all really happened. And a small part of you wonders if it was all really that short, that amazing, and that meaningful. In truth, it probably wasn't. But age lends meaning to everything.
So I guess I welcome the rose-colored lenses.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Holga
Whoa, look out--2 posts in one day. It's a seriously lame-o day at work. On Saturday.
Anyway, I mentioned once that I received a Holga for my birthday. Many of you don't know what that is. Hullo! I'm here to tell you.
It's a fantastic little camera, and it looks like it was made in the 60s...or for little kids. Or both.
The great part is that I have virtually no control over how my pictures come out with this little gem, so every image is a surprise. Good surprise! I skimmed the instructions when I got it because I was too impatient to really read them, and I started jamming film in it and went to town. After some strange symbols started appearing in the film viewer and the back just popped off at one point, totally exposing a section of the film, I realized I may need to actually try to do it right and pretty much wrote off that whole first roll of film. Well, happy surprises abound! I got my film developed and scanned it myself and was delighted to find 16 images! And I even liked some! Here are my faves:
And don't think I don't know what you're thinking: "Those pictures aren't that awesome. They just look...old and crappy." Well, you're wrong. Dead wrong. These are awesome and I'm very excited to get more and more awesome with this crappy little camera.
PS All these pictures are from Greece Lightning.
Saturday's Warriors
Well, it's Saturday. And I'm working. Correction: I'm at work, but doing very little actual work.
This business might kill me. I love my job and the people with whom I work, but I don't know how long I can stand working in this volatile advertising world. There's absolutely no security, no predictability, and the clients control your lives.
Maybe I'm just not cut out for work. The problem, though, is that everybody my age says that. We all think we're somehow above the 9-5. How does one gain the work ethic that seems to come naturally in older generations? My Peter Pan complex has seriously inhibited my productivity.
On that note, I'm craving a slip n' slide. On my lunch break. Today. Which is Saturday. Anybody up for it?
This business might kill me. I love my job and the people with whom I work, but I don't know how long I can stand working in this volatile advertising world. There's absolutely no security, no predictability, and the clients control your lives.
Maybe I'm just not cut out for work. The problem, though, is that everybody my age says that. We all think we're somehow above the 9-5. How does one gain the work ethic that seems to come naturally in older generations? My Peter Pan complex has seriously inhibited my productivity.
On that note, I'm craving a slip n' slide. On my lunch break. Today. Which is Saturday. Anybody up for it?
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