Merry Xmas, A-Holes

Hiya all,
And a merry Christmas to all. Notice I don't say "happy holidays." Because, to be honest with you, I whole heartedly believe if you celebrate December 25th and you get the day off, you should honor the birth of Christmas. Any other celebration on this particular date is folly.

So I'm sitting at a Starbucks on this particular Christmas. I kinda' dig the low-key celebration. Last night, I watched "It's A Wonderful Life" drunk on single malt scotch. Don't you wish you had my life?

All jokes aside, I think I use to be a sentimental dude. It would grate on me when things didn't fulfill themselves. I never really had high expectations. I had the realistic pruning of Mom. She is a glass half-empty type person. Not that it's a bad thing...sometimes it's to protect from anger and pain. Sometimes, when someone asks me about working in Hollywood, I give them the reality of it too. I try to soften it with choices. But, it's like a plane crash victim that, they can tell you the experience, but it's still a foreign concept unless you go through the same thing. I feel Christmas can make one feel like George Bailey. Which reminds me...so Clarence, the angel, jumps from the bridge to save George. Now, isn't it presumed the impact would most surely kill him. So George jumped from the bridge anyway. AND survived. Kinda a flaw there somewhere. But, that's just my cynical self rising up. How about I just enjoy the message about friendship. Which, speaking of being jaded, nowadays, people can't accept the simplicity of humanity. We draw a lot of personal bullplop to explain terrible behavior. There's a certain level of distrust now that a town like Bedford Falls once had. I personally like those small towns. It was one big family. I think we look at those towns with contempt. Which is really strange, since it was ideal. People, maybe consider it too boring. Or too many busy bodies. I happen to like the idea of each one of us watching over each other. In Los Angeles, there is an enormous amount of distrust. And suspicion of your neighbor. There's too many shitbags that ruined it. It sucks. I think that's what is missing these days...neighborly love.

I've been watching a lot of 50's sitcoms lately. And, it's weird to see how people use to treat each other. There was accountability. There were parents who got involved with their children. Who actually cared, but still had time to crack wise. Yeah, I know it's television, and I'm sure there was a more darker side, but how is it that violent movies/video games can be blamed for violence, when we're not as influenced by good behavior?

I guess that's why I can't deal with a show like "Modern Family." It's just too painful to see how far we've slid down the sludge trail. It seems like it turns a mirror to life. But in reality, it just excuses the fractured idea of family.

Oh right, Merry Christmas to all!

Happy Holidays

As the year winds down and we get to the spirit of the holidays, I'd like to share a few thoughts of what I think these moments mean...
...a lot of nothing.

I recall as a child, being so enamored with Christmas. Dude, a guy comes down your chimney and leaves gifts. Well, my folks put a quick kibbutz to that by pointing out the obvious. How the fuck is a fat dude gonna shimmy down our chimney that's plugged up with dead pigeons?

Gotta hand it to Buddhist/Atheist/Agnostics...they know how to throw sand on a fire.

It didn't deter me from the hopes I saw on 80's sitcoms either. During these times, I look back on all those Christmas specials that would air during this time. A lot, surprisingly, had to do with the altruistic idea of Christmas. Which is, peace on Earth, goodwill towards man. This hasn't changed in over 40+ years. Yet, here we are looking at the commerce side again. And here they go pushing the non-commercial message of spirituality. A'int no kid gonna buy the fact of Jesus over a Big Foot kid-sized battery powered monster truck.

But, personally, I wouldn't have it any other way. In my family, it was (obviously) hard to share feelings. Feelings are those things that put on display weakness. Yeah, a girl will tell you that they like a man who can cry. But that man better be George Clooney or Channing Tatum. You start the waterworks, she runs for a guy (not you, because you're a girl friend). I've had this happened, and it's embarrassing. Moreso, looking back, I would've dumped me. So, saying shit like "I love you" or "love ya" or even "vacuum" (cause it looks like "I love you" mouthed) was a pain. It cuts into your gut like a tempered Ginsu. It took me a while to say that to a girl, and all the effort in the world not to vomit afterwards. I digress...what I'm saying is, money talks and bullshit walks. SO, Christmas is the perfect time to show how you care about someone by how much you spend. It's the perfect time for families, like mine, to do so without the mush.

So, here's the part where I get...ya' know....practical gifts. Food, socks and shirts. Basically, NOTHING on my wish list. In fact, I don't recall ever making one. BUT, here's the kicker...I'd play up the Santa thing with Ma & Pa Buddhist/Atheist, and they'd fucking eat my cookies and drink the milk. A-ha...gotcha'. Since Pa is lactose intolerant. There was some slight satisfaction in that revenge.

Alright, so I didn't really get anyone anything this year. As I get older, it becomes a greater hassle. Glad I'm not married. Then it'd be getting dragged through that hassle and hearing nothing but how things could've/would've been different. Yeah, the romantic tinsel has long since faded in my enjoyment of these holiday runs. The strangest part is watch "A Christmas Carol" where you start to sympathize with Ebeneezer Scrooge. I mean, in his defense, these ghosts who show his past, present and future gave him the "greatest hits" version. I could probably put together the same montage and he'd look how much his life really sucked.

Speaking of which...when was the last time you watched "It's a Wonderful Life?" Man, I saw the movie again recently (after watching my friend in a play version). Even in those days, Frank Capra (director) was called out for being a cornball. The message is, no one is poor who has friends. Who the fuck do you think makes you more poor during Christmas time, if it isn't friends?

Thanksgiving...sort of

This is a belated Thanksgiving blog, but I figure it’s a good time to maybe share my thoughts about the holiday push.

Thanksgiving is actually one of my favorite time of the year. I get to really whip up a tasty turkey and watch football until my eyes bleed gravy. It’s a great time. AND I have a tradition now where my two graduate school friends come over and we stuff our faces voraciously while talking smack about everyone from the ol’ days. Actually, we don’t really say much, because most of them have moved on to being married, having kids and well…living like adults. Not my friend Roxanne and Jen. I was wondering if either of them were wondering the same of me. How we leapt over adulthood and just…lived through others. Or just let that train pass and didn’t give it another thought. I wondered if it were rude to pry. Wondered even more if we even gave a damn. It’s a strange get together since none of us ever get together, UNLESS it’s Thanksgiving. And here’s the kicker…we’ve been doing this for the last 6 years. All in all, I can not tell you the details of their lives. But here we three were, sharing a meal and just enjoying the present company. Not sure what type of relationship you can classify this as, but it has a very bizarre tradition. And you know something…I wouldn’t have it any other way.

See, most people seem to dread their relatives. And the thought of having to entertain them causes a lot more stress than necessary. In my case, I really look forward to this tradition. We neither have a complete history, or don’t feel it necessary to continue a future one. It’s an unspoken thing now that once the food consumption is over, so is our communication. And any further contact. That is, until next year. Somehow…this seems so much better than the alternative. The in-laws, kids, uninvited guest come over and overstay their welcome. Someone gets drunk. Probably gropes a relative they’re not related to. And more than likely sticks some appendage in a soft food item. In which case, this is spread through history now. And these stories often start with “remember when uncle so-n-so stuck his schmeckle in the potatoes? God, how shitty was it to eat around that?!” It’s something that you live with for a very very long time. With Roxanne and Jen, no one in their close circle really know who I am and…no one in my limited relationships know who they are. It’s a really weird dial-a-family type scenario. And to be honest, one of the coolest arrangements I can imagine.

A few years back I recall reading why high stressed stockbrokers would hire hookers. These guys weren’t desperate for tail. They could probably get  married and have families. It was because the thought of introducing MORE responsibility into their lives sounded more fun than a chainsaw enema. Think about it…all the times these holidays made you MORE resentful for having to play by a set of rules set prior to the event. I remember as a teen being reprimanded by another friend for being late to dinner. To be fair, it was my fault. I brought a date that was (looking back) a real cunt. I mean she wasn’t consciously being a total cunt. But I was in so infatuated with her I basically wanted to impress her with my friend’s Thanksgiving shindig. So I drove ½ hour to the other side of town and waited as she readied herself at her home. All the while, not in the least bit rushing her, since she didn’t really give a flying shit about my itinerary. I was a throw rug under her feet. So, when I showed up late, my friend being rightfully drunk gave me such an earful. The door opened with “Where the hell have you been?” and ended with “I don’t fucking care who she is…” I really didn’t realize that I played a vital part in her festivities. Which I didn’t. It’s just the common courtesy that is involved in these matters. Anyways, this tongue lashing was done on the grand stage in front of the girl I was trying to impress. Which…goes without saying, but accomplished the opposite effect.

Anyway, if I were to be thankful for anything this year, it’s that I’m very thankful that I do have a set of friends who could give two shits about me and don’t require that I give a shit about them. AND, that there was wall to wall NFL on t.v. that day, so that drowned out the rest of the banal conversation most other families suffer with. My condolence goes out to all those who suffer the gene that forced you into wanting to be an adult. And give you high marks for not blowing out your brains.

Maria Kang: The What's-Your-Excuse Mother

If you haven't seen this woman, search for her on the internet. She is ridiculously hot. With a great body. And three kids.

That's the rub. Here's a a woman who posted a photo of herself, fitter than most fit people with her kids, with the caption "What's your excuse?" The parenthetical being "...for being a fat mom." A lot of outrage for her, considering a LOT of the outrage had nothing to do with the fact that she owns two businesses, raises three kids with no nannies, former recovering bulemic. married and works the fuck out. People wish they had her constitution. Her grit and drive. I hate the people who've seen this and felt outrage. I feel sick of unfit people. At times, including myself.

She is wonder woman. An absolute gem. Yet....yet...people have vilified her as being pompous. Really? This grates on me, since...people constantly rip on poor role models. HE'RE SHE IS! I just don't understand people sometimes. I love that she flaunts it. Love it even more that she's that motivated. Shit, I poured a Hormel's chili down my throat before I wrote this. She's the quintessential MILF. She should be crowned Queen MILF.

The supposed arrogance does come with a price...if anyone had taken a moment to read her blog. She has a great deal of uncertainty in life. As yours truly. She questions her life A LOT. Like yours truly. A simple search of this woman would probably kick up a lot of dirt many could/would use against her. She seems to have the typical anxiety of all mothers. No one commented on it. She questions her relationship with her hubby. Which no one commented on. Yes...this is stalker-ish of me. But more than anything, I wanted to know where this may've come from. And it was all from a good heart. That a person who re-focuses their lives wants to scream it from the mountain tops. They want everyone to feel the same as they do. And to come out of the drudgery as she has. Maybe it was a cry of support. Maybe we're just a bunch of cynical asshats that see only the surface and we stop there.

But she puts it out there.

That's right Maria Kang...what IS our excuse?

There's Someone For Everybody

You know when you're single and people tell you that there is someone for everyone? Not true. And forgive me if you think I'm taking a Louis C.K. bit but there really isn't. I think at a certain point, if you're single past a certain mark, you have to re-evaluate and accept that you will most likely die alone. Which is really not as grim as it sounds. Unless you live with a cat. And if I learned anything from the show "Hoarders," it's almost certain they will start to eat you. And then wear your clothes. Because cats think this is funny.

I live in a community of people where there CLEARLY isn't someone from them. I'm not sure how I came to be there, except, we may all share a common disdain for humanity. In my case, I'm a lone dude who has strange rituals. In their case, they're bitter cat ladies who've been screwed over, have screwed over, in the process of screwing, or just plain screwed up. These are very much angry embittered people who latch onto some slight, regret, pain in their past. Festering inside themselves. There are certain types that you can tell just hold it in. Around me, these are women who have fat bloated faces. Ruddy noses. Dour expression. And live in the armpit of Van Nuys, so no one in their right mind would visit. I'm certain there is also an air of former groupies of lousy L.A. bands that never made it. The tip on that is the concert t-shirt of bands that are WAY too bad for irony (not like these teens who wear a Sex Pistols "Never Mind The Bullocks" tee they found at Hot Topic).

No, I'm talking about miserable people who've congregated to one spot that people can hide from the rest of the world. We look at our neighbors and breathe a sigh of relief that we aren't as bad off. Well...I can say they think the same of me.

I notice, recently as the last "family" moved out, how wild that it never occurred to me that everyone around me was single. Not completely single, but my neighbor has a daughter, she's a single mom. Two doors down and above, there's a guy who sits by his computer and looks off into the L.A. river next to a computer that looks to be from the early 90's. Creepy. And alone. There's my neighbor directly above from me that has a stranger schedule than me. He comes and goes and doesn't say a single thing to me. In fact, one day I was standing outside smoking a cigar when he passed by, didn't acknowledge me. The landing to the stairs only really fits one person. Miserable fuck.

So my point being, I think at a certain age we really pick up fucked up shit about our habits. I think these habits are usually too gruesome to share with others. For instance, I watch 90's sitcoms on my laptop while I take a dump. Seems to be appropriate. But how could I possibly introduce a new relationship that would accept that? Or that my gym clothes are strewn around the apartment to "air out." Yeah, that'll get them hot.

A lot of this shit is in our heads. But still...if there is someone who could accept me taking a shit enjoying "Roseanne," what possible darkness could this person be harboring?

So going back to dying alone. I feel it's something we all have to go through. Dying alone. I don't like that feeling of people suffering/celebrating my death. And I don't like to be on the other end too. Somehow, just not having to fulfill anyone's expectation feels like freedom. No obligation. No disappointments. Just, living your merry way. One time I told an ex girlfriend, that if I was getting into another relationship, they'd have to be on my schedule or else they're not going to make it. Very arrogant and childish. But how often do couples look at their lives and wish they could make that statement. Is being alone bad? Most of the times, I don't feel so. But every once in a while...it's nice to remember and feel that feeling of being in love. It's been really a long time now, I only have memories. And maybe that's what my neighbors have too. Which is why we're all hiding out from the world. The miserable world. But at least it's yours. Here's some simple math for you:
If you have a wife and kid. What are the chances that they'll be the source of your pain and disappointment in life? Multiply that by how many years you want to live.

Now, if you're alone, what does that percentage become?

You have no one to blame but yourself.

Photographing Models: An Exercise In Madness

A lot of people might think photographing models is fun, but it really sometimes gets on your nerves.

Not the models. Or the people. It's the stuff that's in your own mind. The stuff that makes you second guess every bit of your skill and tastes. The stuff that really keeps you awake at night wondering "why?"

In general, photographing people is a good time. Especially if you can collaborate on a concept with your talent. For me, recently, it's been trying to recreate "era" photos. Pinup. Vintage stuff. I've been fascinated with the 1940's & 50's as a kid. I think because my parents had an English language learning book from that era. It was very bizarre to grow up in the 80's knowing what galoshes were. Meanwhile, kids were referring to them as rain boots.

So we flush out an idea. Rough sketch. Study poses. The "look." And then we have the shoot. Because my clientele now is relatively new, there is direction I have to give them. To which, it may have been beneficial to know what it meant like to be on the other side of the camera. Unfortunately, I have a stupid ugly fucking face, so I can only relate to it in terms of shots I've already seen. Ot stuff I think looks good and flatters their body. Which is easier said then done. It does bewilder me when you think you have it in your mind how someone will look in a pose but then when you see it thru the camera, it's so off-based it destroys your initial concept. This happens more times than I'd like to think about. Especially difficult when you have to project to your model that all things are going well.

Models are really insecure. Why shouldn't they be? In the days of the cruel cruel internet, a bad photo can send some off the nearest bridge. Well, in my case, I try to "protect" the image to the best of my ability. Which comes down to why I say it's sometimes painful to photograph women.

Once a shoot is done. You are alone. The kinetic give and take and rush of finding the right light, the right angle and play is over. There it is...complete silence. When I process my own black and white film, it's the excitement of getting that roll into the tank to process. I open a beer, go to my bathroom and process film. It's relaxing.

In color, I sit the rolls down and just stare into space. I replay a lot of the shoot. Often times I try to "feel" which shot looked great in my mind. And which ones I cringe at. I sicken myself with this game, because there's too much silence. To offset this, recently, I've taken back up with playing XBOX games. Usually long puzzle solving games that require I force my brain into some other world. It's a really great distraction.

Thank god for NFL football Sunday too.

Come Monday, I drop the film off at the lab. The feeling is a mixed bag. Anything can happen at this point. It's out of my hands. This is exciting as well. Since, all I do is wait. I twiddle my thumbs and try to drive the thought of the shoot from my mind. I know some shooters who would force themselves into a different project. Move on and up. Setting up for the next shoot. Me...I get too wrapped up. I get giddy to present the image to the model.

When I get the neg back, I rush back home to scan. This part of it makes me unbearably happy. I can see an image on the negative. That's a plus so far. Then I warm up my scanner and start to scan...one by one. The images start to appear.

This is a point in which you either want to text/call your model and burst out that you got the results you wanted, or you want to drive off the nearest bridge, preferably engulfed in napalm.

Let's say it's the prior. Each image populates into your library. I get happy. I can see potential. I have some 80's sitcom playing in the background, so I have noise to drown out the doubt sometimes playing in my head.

Once it's in the bins, there comes the terrible task of whittling down your images. This is so painful, it may've been invented by the Marquis De Sade. Oh wait, that was sexy painful. I mean...just gut wrenching, since I've now gotten to a point where I don't just ignore...I delete. This very specific act, tells me...we may revisit the image, but it's going to take a lot. So once it's in the trash, it's more than likely gone. This decision is not taken lightly.

When I gruesomely go down to the finalist, like some game show about talent, that's when I start my film cleaning. This involves going into a photo editor and dust busting. Scratches, hairs and blemishes. Fine tuning the imperfections but also leaving some to maintain honesty.

This takes a while. A while...a lot of booze and more 80's sitcoms.

When this is done, it's now the time to fine tune the color.

Coloring is when you really get to see the fruits of your labor come together. For me anyway. Most people would rather dump this to a re-toucher. Maybe I should. But, I have preset looks that my images tend to have. And I lean on them. Is it cheating? Kinda of. Imagine if I didn't tell anyone, no one would ever know. But I also go in and fine tune. This is a little painful since I do have an idea of what I want, but often the changes aren't big, they're miniscule.

This process takes some time. Mostly for self-flagellation. I get really punchy during this time. Never happy. Looking deep into areas that people would never notice. The real insanity kicks in when you stare at an image so long, you end up hating that person for making you this way. Which, in reality, they have NO clue what you're going through. And it's all in your twisted mind that people will even give a shit. Remember that scene in "Carrie"...the "they're-all-gonna-laugh-at-you" scene. It's not far off.

So once you get your images colored, and you've kept insanity at bay. It's the time when you actually present it to the client/model.

You sit on pins, waiting for approval. These are people who have an idea of what you've done, but, like trying to describe entertainment business to your folks, they really don't know until they've seen it.

I'll be honest with you. This is the best part of the process. Mostly because you felt like you've just taken the world's most satisfying dump...but you've also proven to the model/talent, you're not an complete idiot. The reaction is usually what's most worthwhile. The feeling of having an idea, and exceeding the expectations. I think there are a LOT of shooters out there that can relate. And they can pay you any amount, but nothing is more complete as being recognized as creating something from nothing.

I've Seen My Future...And It's Grim

This morning I went to the gym. As is my usual routine. I wake up...get sober, take vitamins and head for the gym. Mostly it's for the hot shower. And every once in a while for the view of the dames. I'm in the cable exercise area. It's mostly where personal training happens. Also where most of the women are. Whilst at the thigh machine (because I have chicken thighs) a conversation piqued my interest. It was a man chatting up a girl. Or I should probably say woman. Seemed about 30's...it's hard to tell with Euros since they seem SO much more worldly. She was European chic even at 7AM. Matching gym outfit. Makeup was perfect. As was her indistinct accent. Mediterranean, maybe. She could tell people to fuck off and they'd think it was charming.

She was beautiful, no doubt. The kind of dark hair, smoky eyed woman who looks great in a Bentley, top down, scarf around neck. Large sunglasses. Really classy. Though at this moment, on the quad machine. She has one of those looks like she's never done serious weight training. It's something in her diet that keeps her this beautiful. And definitely not anything at the gym.

Anyway, the big lug that sidled up to her...they knew each other. He was a big fellow. Looked to have played...high school football, and maybe made Division II college ball. He'd look to have pounded many a keg stand. Ruddy nose. Clearly the result of being in a frat. He's the type of dude who comes with catch phrases. For instance, I'd seen him earlier bellowing to a couple of heavy-set Latinas "Hey, we'd all love to splash some water on our face and call it a workout, but you gotta want results." No joking.

To this classic beauty sitting on the machine it was "yeah, I was doing incline pushups this morning. Three hundred of them. I said to myself 'bro, you're 48, let's see if I can still do three hundred."

To which she inquired "When did you turn 48?" "Today" he beamed. That's when the flood gates opened for him to impress. First it was the empty compliment of how her cardio workout was working. Then it was back to him and his ability to still feel like a 30 year old. I think she'd been in some t.v. show. I'm not sure, because I overheard him joking "Yeah, must be nice married to Charlie Sheen." To which...she'd start laughing. That's when he said it..."'Two and a Half Men' is every single guy's dream. He's rich. Gets chicks. And gets drunk." Not sure I saw her expression to that, but I'm sure she played along. Who knows what happens when the ogre is upset. That's when it dawned on me. I'm 38. Going to the gym. Looking at women. Doing physical feats to prove I'm not as old as I am. I am, in fact, this guy in 10 years. And it's sad.

No one really counts on this guy to be anything but...that guy. He's probably the guy who re-lives glory days of how he use to get "hot tail." The days of playing football. The better days. Then reality is in front of him. The classy lady walked away. Did a classy exit. And he's back to pacing the floor of the gym. Wonder what that's going to look like at 50.

Nevermind, I'll just wait 12 years =).

Proud Mom Sends Facebook Message To Gay Son

So...
there's this mom who recently posted how proud she was that her son came out as homosexual on Facebook. Really?

For all intents and purposes, I would think a boy who has admitted to homosexually already has certain urges. These are usually circumstances to which a parent would rather drive off a very high cliff than would want to believe exists in their child. Let alone discuss it with the general public. I get the feeling sometimes, that when a parent does this, it almost seems like they feel they've made a mistake somehow. But...I don't think parents should make ANY statements about their child's sex life.

Two factors come to mind...1) Not everyone will accept this and therefore, you've now put to the forefront future, irreparable insult fodder. 2) who cares what your kid's into?

Seriously, my folks rarely knew I even liked Transformers or G.I. Joes. I think their logic was that the more they figured out what I liked, the more interest they would have to fake. So why would they even remotely want to know about my sex life? I mean, the first time my mom even had "the talk" with me was...pretty much non-existent. It was to the extent of "Hey...it's cool to be friends with girls...but...y'know...friendship is friendship." Forget  that this Mom who professed her unconditional love to her son might as well draw the guy a diagram on how a penis enters a butt. Or maybe should prepare him better for years of ridicule.

To be fair, I get what she's doing. She knows by her kid proclaiming that he's bisexual, she's telling him that he should feel no shame in her eyes. I venture to guess that since he made that statement, it wasn't necessarily trying to keep it a secret to her. Or relatives. I'm sure grammy and grandpa wants to know what color scarf to knit this year for Christmas (hint: pink). Unless, they aren't "friended" in which case, he should burn in Hell. Or call them every once in a while to thank them for the $10 they send for birthdays.

I guess the bigger question is Who Fucking Cares? I'm straight...and love pussy (circa 1970's bush), don't need to post it on Facebook for all to see. There's better places more discreet. Bathroom stalls seem to have lost their place in these matters, it seems.

Being NOT Drunk Sucks

I really love drinking beer while I work on my photography portfolio. Unfortunately, I think...sometimes I get too wasted and just destroy my own work. In fact, I get so upset by things I coulda/woulda/shoulda done I rip my guts out until I drink more. This is an insane cycle I'm trying to break, since I see my work with all mistakes, whilst people see it with more forgiving eyes.

I have this terrible habit of making comparisons in my work. I'm not better than my heroes. Then it hit me...if I were better than my heroes (or even on par) would they even be my heroes anymore? Of course not. That's why we have heroes. Someone to aspire to. I think most "artists" are like me. Very brutal with their own work. They tear it apart and refuse to present it to the world for critique. Any hurtful comments could lead to driving to the nearest cliff and hitting the accelerator.

I think this is unfair of us. What's even more unfair. It'll never change. Part of why we become better or put our work above others, is to go thru this unbearable mess of emotions. Why else would our work be considered on a different plane. Because it'll NEVER be good enough. It's like a Chinese mother wrapped in a Jewish mother's blanket.

I've tried many times to convince myself that the work is great. It's not going to get better, only to be thwarted by a nagging thought that it can always be better.

My friend James had a great story about a neighbor that spent three days holed up in his apartment touching up a photo of a celebrity. When he was done, he presented it to him that an art opening. See...we need validation. The saddest type too. From ANYONE that isn't a douchey too-cool-for-school non-industry person. I LOVE my Flickr page, because I see pedestrians learning their craft. Meanwhile, my work gets so many compliments. And confusion as to why I would present my work in such a shoddy website. The truth is, I like the validation. I get to say stupid things like "well, it takes a lot of work and passion to develop your own look." Meanwhile, I can barely stomach all the stupid mistakes of the image. Because, atop ALL of this b.s. we also compare ourselves to the BEST image makers in the world. So, not only do we seek approval from the general public, we bristle at the success of professionals. How fucked up is that?

This saddens me. I use to think it was just me. I'm not so sure anymore. I met another photographer who shared the same thoughts. I think if you can live with contentment of your work, you may be a sociopath.

And you wonder why staying drunk as I work on images is the best way to stave off insanity.

Grow The F&*k Up

Lately I've been thinking about my past relationship. She was a long term I had met in college. She recently just had another child. Meanwhile, I could barely hold onto the one I had. I don't speak much about it publicly. I think it's probably whiny and angry. But...as with much of the internet, I use it to find past crushes and loves.

So, I did locate another girl I use to have a major infatuation with. She is now married with a husband and child and a nice home. At least it looks nice on Facebook. Typical stalker garbage, I suppose. It's funny how the people you would never suspect of getting married gets married. They either settle or I think they relegate themselves to a "normal" life. I knew them as total fuck ups. Like me. Difference is, they moved on...I didn't.

There is a level of resentment I have for them. I think by them moving on, they think they're better than me. I think they are better than me. Or they chose someone they thought was better than me, and that's total garbage...until it really hits the ego and reminds me, I am the thorn in their side. The regret they probably share with their significant other. Or they don't even think of my stupid ass as much as I think of them. I guess when you don't have immediate family to deal with, or a relationship, you will conjure up stupid thoughts. Meanwhile, they're living their domestic life.

My understanding is that NO ONE is happy. They present themselves positively. But, I'm not so sure. I think we all wish we were all as happy and awesome as our social media outlet would allow. I think we're all different levels of miserable. There are bright moments in happiness, of course. Weddings, births...funerals. But how long does this drag out until you realize you will die alone. And whether or not the people who share your biology will be there to amuse you while you pop thorazine is up for debate.

My nephew and niece cause a lot of grief for my sister. But I think the moments of joy come from their happiness. I find that I am a family person, at heart, but if I were to use my brain...I know my life should not be shared by anyone else.

I think I caught lighting in a bottle when I was with my college girlfriend. Or at least that moment in time was joyful for me. It seems there's been some attempt on my part to re-capture that "joy." I can't sense it, but I believe it was a good time. The grownups have learned to find joy elsewhere. It's definitely not the past. I know to reach back that far...feelings. And, it seems so does your influence on other people. To that, I say to myself "grow the fuck up!" I want to start my own business. I want to do what I love to do. What is it that holds me back except stupid fear. I've no responsibility. I've no recourse. I've been anchored by my own bullshit. And if you understand what I'm saying, I suggest you get busy with life too.

I think I live in bittersweet melancholy. My dad once said, only people without kids and a family can live like that. The rest of you are too busy existing and experiencing life. Generally speaking, all these so-called memories are so temporary and fleeting...seems futile. I guess in the meantime, I can enjoy the mystery of hot loose women of Los Angeles. Just have to grow up first though.

George Zimmerman Cleared

I'd like to reiterate that I am in no way a political person. Most people could care less what I think about most of these subjects. But this one particular case got me thinking deeply about the fabric of America.

When I was first introduced to this country, it was a place where most people would swim through shark infested waters to gain the opportunities my native country didn't possess. The thought was that ANYTHING was possible. You can become anyone and do anything. While I find this to still to be true (relative to other countries) I find myself absolutely confused as to how justice can work for some, and not for others.

I really don't want to spread facts, since I'm sure most of what I've read is colored by some level of exaggeration, but I have to believe, in this day and age, when one person shoots another person we have to believe there is justifiable homicide. What we so got away from is just basic common sense. Much like O.J. We just let the letter of the law dictate to us how the outcome would come about. To me, this is just scary. The world I live in now doesn't want us to succeed at life. We've convicted/exonerated Zimmerman before he was even tried. How could it possibly be that he would get a fair trial. The facts are, he shot someone who they got into an altercation with. The kid died. I'm not sure how much more clear we can get on that. Then, as a defense which is to offer him the best effort possible, hid behind the "Stand Your Ground" law. Now...I get how this law was enacted. IF someone was to put your life in danger, I can see how you could've done what it took to protect yourself. Here's a kid walking to the market to get some candy. The kid wasn't going out looking to get into an altercation. It just happened. And he ends up dead.

I dunno about you, but if a stranger came up to me and didn't identify himself, I'd be defending myself. So, where does standing your ground protect? It's all so confusing and incendiary, so I'll stop there. But I will say...I don't like that Zimmerman walked away, cleared of the charges, but I will say he is going to be punished worse out of prison than in prison. By the media. By the public. By the world. He will have to wear the fate of that terrible night with him forever. I don't think there is punishment enough to undo that.

Gym Rats @ 5AM

So my schedule has changed now where I hit the gym at 5AM instead of the usual 8AM. It may seem like a 3 hour difference but...what a difference it makes.

5AM gym rats are definitely a different breed. In Ohio, you would never see a person at the gym at that hour. I mean, you want to do some physical labor go bale some hay. Here I am in Universal Studio L.A. Fitness at this ungodly hour thinking I'd be completely alone. I was wrong.

There is a special type of person who gets up early to go to work. You would assume these are the people who have really early working hours. I mean, it was the case with me. Unfortunately this is not true. They are, for the most part have issues that need to be sorted out.

In Los Angeles, you can usually tell the meeting place for AA meetings. There are people standing outside a church late at night chain smoking. This is similar to gym night rats. They aren't necessarily bleary eyed, which is a dead giveaway...they are focused and they beeline to the machines. Once there, they put their headphones on, select the machine workout and pump away furiously. Almost as if to outrun whatever it is that drove them there in the first place. Some you can tell are overcoming addictions. This is the only release they have for the day for peace of mind. The other 23 hours, their brain is a pinball machine. There are people who show up to socialize (like the day rats), while others seem to be biding their time before their inevitable death. I see a LOT of senior citizens there. They aren't really dressed for the gym, but they hop on a machine, do half-ass workout and start pacing the floor. If I were to equate this type to anything, it'd be like a zombie, who in their dying light they're going through the motions of who they once were.

The ones that really stand out, are the ones training for something. There are a few that rotate marathon t-shirts. They are slim, trim and tend to wear body formed shorts. But odd thing is, they still have a gut. Everything on them tells me that they are athletic except the spare tire they're probably there to get rid of. I'm sure they've run marathons before. They seem very focused. Very gung-ho about...everything. There is no real form to how they exercise, only that it is done with authority. You get the feeling that these are the ones with the biggest issues. Whether it be a relationship they can't get out of, or one they can't get into. No one in this population, if espoused, would put their mate in a situation where they leave at 4:45AM to make the gym at 5. And not on a non-school day.

I shouldn't judge though. I mean, I'm there. I go, mostly, for the free shower. And to catch up on my podcast listening. It's a nice quiet time. I know my previous schedule was more hectic. Pretty girls later in the day though.

I dunno. Sometimes I think I may go too much if I'm thinking about what people are like at gyms this early. Maybe tomorrow I'll just sleep in.

Big Brother 15: The Aaryn Gries Saga

I watched maybe one episode of "Big Brother" years ago. In it, they pit a bunch of mis-matched people and spy on them. The show is a total ruse. It's stuffed with casted actors.

Yea, I'm not telling you guys anything you already don't know. But recently this pretty blonde named Aaryn Gries is getting a shellacking over racist, homo-bashing comments she's made on air. With a name like Aaryn so close to Aryan...are you surprised?

Now correct me if I'm wrong, but this IS a reality show? And if that isn't her real attitude or that she should keep those comments in check aren't we, in essence...NOT presenting reality? See, that's what bugs me about these shows. They want the battle but they don't want the war. She spoke her mind  and, stupid as her comments may be, only paints her out to whatever you side with. For example, she makes remarks about the Asian girl should go make some rice. Or corrects a Black girl's language (ebonics). This is what I dealt with when I lived in Ohio. And if you don't believe that is as close to the reality we still live with, then you still believe pro wrestling is real. Because nothing is as raw as blatant hurtful comments.

But hurtful to whom? We've put SO much emphasis on Caucasian people to step on shells when around a minority that it has, in fact, worked against the cause. They feel they shouldn't have to side-step someone's personal feelings because what they say is deemed wrong or offensive. If you're a minority, try this sometimes. If one of your Caucasian friends makes a race joke, look at them with a serious look and a blunt tone tell them how offended you are by that comment. Watch them freeze in fear that they've cut you deep into your soul.

Why? Why must they be the only ones that feel this way but other races will blatantly drop white jokes and get away without a scratch? Is it because they've grown thicker skin over the years? No. Is it because they understand joking better? No. It's because WE'VE given the words too much power. And it does describe our own wretchedness to allow it to effect us. The minute we can laugh this all off, the sooner we can move on. The days of angry minorities is growing tiresome. Maybe it's my old age, or maybe just not giving it that much thought anymore, but I just want us to recognize that these hurtful things exist. And the spokesman didn't have to be a 22 year old blonde model who probably couldn't articulate herself better. I don't hate her. I feel sorry for her. She will move through life with far greater burden of "type" over my Asian ass. Trust me on that. She will constantly be objectified and, more than likely, emotionally (and possibly physically) abused. People think she got the gene lottery, I say she will suffer greater than any minority because of her gender and looks. These things fade. As do hurtful comments.

Gays Get To Marry

I'm not a political person. In fact, I'd be hard pressed to tell you who our vice president is. But recently the Supreme Court has cleared the path for gays to marry. My first response: Who freakin' cares? NOT because I don't care about gays, but because this should've been the way a LONG time ago. Not just a long time ago, but since the beginning of time.

The institute of marriage between men and women has been a joke for some time now. They have reality t.v. shows about it even. They pawn each other off like cattle at a market. Who wants to marry a millionaire? Who wants to marry a midget? And so forth. And the religious groups are having an issue with gays marrying? Is this serious? I can't believe that it's taken a decision by court to clarify what has been an inalienable right to everyone else. That is, to be miserable. Yes, get married and share how terrible it is to deal with boring stupid stories about absolutely nothing for the rest of your life. Gays are like us: boring. Sure, they put on elaborate parties. And they have marches and parades, BUT even that shit gets old. Imagine having lobster at every meal. You'd pray for a peanut butter and jelly after the first month.

I just can't believe it's taken this long to "allow" gays to marry. Strike that, I can't believe it's taken this long to even address gays getting married. And, seriously, who fucking cares except religious losers? And I'm not just talking Christianity either. Senegal outlaws gay marriage. That's stupid. Considering a third world nation needs its gays to hold down their population growth. Keep breeding Senegal and see if your resources will tap out. Oh, wait...they'll have to rely on the kind hearted handouts of other countries who've accepted gay rights and will have to change to get any type of support.

I'm sick of hearing this discussion about whether or not it's right for gays to marry. How about asking whether or not certain people SHOULD marry others. Idiots are getting married. Should they? Probably. But your saying to me, idiots who can't hold a job, don't pay taxes, have no life skills and drool at the mouth have these rights but gays don't? Statistically, gays are wealthy and intelligent and do their best to improve their community. Not just the gay community, but make things "nicer." Look at the shit hole that use to be east Hollywood. Gays moved in and improved it ten fold. THESE are the people you feel are a detriment to society. Okay...keep telling yourself that while living in a cardboard box eating Dinty Moore stew.

It just boggles my mind sometimes how backwards we can be. We confuse our own moral outrage with  denying others their freedom. This issue will be looked at years later as one of the stupidest waste of resources and time ever. Next to why we had separate bathrooms and drinking fountains.

Living Alone In Los Angeles

I've been missing as of late. I've moved to another place. In my 13+ years of living in Los Angeles, this is the first place I've ever gotten that was solely my place. It's a weird feeling. The last time I experienced this was in Bowling Green, OH. When I first moved off campus.

The feeling of living alone is a great one. Especially if you get to be an age where you have weird habits that turn into irritating rituals with a roommate. Alone, you have full reign of your domain. You can crap with your door open. Drink booze in your underwear. Read Judy Blume novels without being judged. Watch crappy 80's sitcoms and laugh mightily as you want to. In short, it's freedom.

But freedom comes with a price. And the price is somewhat high. Los Angeles isn't cheap. And it certainly isn't cheap alone. All the utilities are now entirely yours. The responsibility of taking out garbage and getting mail...entirely yours. If someone pissed in a corner...guess who did it? You have no become...a grown up. Especially in a big city like L.A. There are so many factors of the world that come into your life as you live alone. You get attuned to certain aggravation now. For instance, you can no longer be as patient as you want to be when the internet goes dead. Or they're working on the boiler so there isn't hot water.

Internet use to bother me. It doesn't anymore. In fact, I don't even have it at my home anymore. See, it's another excessive "want" that doesn't fall into "need." And therefore, is expendable. I like parceling out  the essentials in life. And living well beneath my means...if need be.

The other day, I did FINALLY get my gas pilot light lit. It took 3 weeks and the coordination of more people than I was expecting. These are things you must deal with when you live alone.

I do enjoy the silence now. I get a lot of work done. In my previous place, I never did see my roommate. I made it so that I never had to. Cooked and stayed on my side. Living together alone. But, their presence is always in the back of your mind. You have to consider them, even if you never see them. Living alone is a HUGE burden I never knew existed. I knew I felt cohabitation was overbearing. You still had to sidestep so many things (doesn't bear going over here).

I'm really liking it so far. I visit Big Lots a lot and buy bricka-brack (an old term meaning "crap"). And, the independence I feel is worth the small bump in living expenses. I guess there is a price tag for peace of mind. But oddly enough, I don't feel it as bad as I thought I would (being a cheap S.O.B. that I am).

Goodbye Roger Ebert

Roger Ebert passed away today. An amazingly young 70 years old. And I was taken back by it as he played a huge role in my love of movies.

As a kid growing up in the mid-west, I would be so excited to watch "Siskel & Ebert", and just try to guess which one would give thumbs up or down. I LOVED that show with a passion, because...you have to understand...I grew up with only four t.v. stations to choose from. And all of it was sitcom crap.  They force fed us special programming like T.G.I.F. on ABC. We got Urkel or nothing. The only alternative was to get out of the house. And to the movies.

This was at a time when movie theaters were still an experience. As a kid with limited resources, I couldn't possibly watch everything that hit the theaters. So I had to pick and chose carefully. There weren't any opinions in the local Cincinnati paper that seemed to jump out at you. No simple opinions, just a mish-mash of non-committal statements. As if the reviewer didn't even watch it.

Enter Siskel & Ebert. These two muppets were arguing voraciously about their love of movies. It didn't matter what was on their plate, but they were going to battle it out on air. I ATE THAT UP. It was a religion to me to know EXACTLY what time they were on (as Tivo/DVR didn't exist at this time). I loved every review they've ever done together. The world simply disappeared when they were on.

When Siskel passed away, I was saddened that I now had to close the door on the excitement of that show. Something in Ebert changed. Without the yin there was a very muted yang. And everyone could sense it.

Ebert pressed forth and sat next to others. They all paled in comparison to Siskel. They caught lightning in a bottle when they both were paired together. And, personally, I don't think they ever got back to it. I often agreed with Ebert's reviews. He is one of the rare reviewers who has worked in the Hollywood system, having written a produced screenplay in "Beyond The Valley Of The Dolls." I could tell he loved that really wild free-love genre. Which sometimes surprises me that he admonishes other exploitation projects such as "I Spit On Your Grave."

The funny thing about Ebert's reviews that stand out among others is that...he's not afraid to voice his own personal agenda into the work. In fact, prior to finding out he had passed, I was reading his review. Yes, I STILL followed him three decades later. To me, he spoke with the same blunt dry wit that I grew up with. The midwestern morals that, it seems, only the most down to Earth people can share. He spoke to me. Which I do give him great credit for my love of movies and as to why I work in them today.

Towards the end of his life...it almost seems like I knew it was the end. His reviews seemed to be getting more wistful. He started to appreciate the smaller more quiet stories. Perhaps he was, as he always did, champion the little film that could.

I wrote him a letter a few years back, basically begging him to review a movie I had shot. I often wonder if he did get around to watching this movie (which I consider very poor quality) and saved myself the embarrassment by NOT reviewing it. For my benefit. I sometimes feel...maybe...just maybe, he may have thumbs down that movie...but he thumbed me up for effort.

I thank him for his inspiration and my appreciation of the cinema. Thumbs up, Mr. Ebert.

The Detox: Is In Charge Of Finding Treasure In The Park

If you got a chance to read my previous post, well, yes, I am now making it a point to go back onto the wagon. Crappy as it sounds, I do need to give my liver a break. To all you out there that have compulsive or addictive personalities, I have to say, a lot of what I'm experiencing is less the personality and more the physical. For instance, on this special New Years Day morning, I had the terrible shakes. My brain was throbbing. My heart was racing. And what ran through my mind like some terrible record was that I was going to die of a heart attack. I was trembling and knew for the next few days, I'd probably not be able to eat.

Cheery stuff to say the least. I had chest pains. And with labored breath. Atop one of the most embarrassing moments of romantic profession still ahead of me asleep on the couch in the other room. She was still drunk as well. Passed out cold. I think the natural state of her being is similar to mine. I think we shared a lot of denial and pain. And we kid that alcohol is functional in ANY capacity. I bragged about posting blogs about hangover workouts, she upped me by saying, just put vodka in your water bottle when you go to the gym. Do we sound like rational grown adults? AND she's only 25 years old. That means, by the time she's my age...well, I'll just say it, she may not live to be my age.

Okay, repeat to myself, DO NOT DRAW FROM EMOTIONAL WELL WHILE DETOXING. I mean, this sucks. You feel like a noodle. Your brain is foggy and completely weak everywhere. The panic hits hard. Anxiety in the worst case. Because your body's fuel was running on alcohol. I knew it isn't suppose to end like this. I shoved a few melatonins down my throat and chugged some mineral water. I'm sure I was ashen gray.

When I say alcohol is more of a physical thing, I meant, my mind hated the stuff. But my body needed it. And the pain that comes with not having it in your system is indescribable, as I can only say, it feels like a very fat person sitting on your chest, and then they're carrying a very fat baby.

It's sickness. I still feel "off" two days later. I read recently that people who have tried to quit cold turkey have sometimes gone into cardiac arrest. As if they needed to gradually come off alcohol rather than the whole kitten-kaboodle. In fact, I read that's how Amy Winehouse died. Seizures from the depletion of alcohol from her system. What irony.

Detox sucks, people. I mean, royally sucks balls. I mean, I think about whether I would be miserable and drunk or miserable and sober. I think miserable and drunk is much better. But least healthiest. I think they seem to keep the demons at bay. Or at least pickle my brain in to believing it's only distilled water. Ugh.

I read a lot on the internet about other's experience. Some of it really sad and scary stuff. Fatty livers and cirrhosis. All ugly boogeyman stories. Hell Larry Hagman lived to 81 with someone else's liver and died of throat cancer. Some of my fellow drinkers never make it out.

The bar I go to, has this bartender. Must be in his 70's. He would pour me shots of Johnny Walker, but his hands trembled so hard, I would usually get only half of what he poured. Yet, no one in that bar seems to notice this but me. I think, they all seem to know the truth. And this man will die from drinking. To them, it may be noble. For me, I'd rather crap my pants and die from sex with an angry hooker than in the gutter with a bottle of scotch. At least I'd have gone out shooting.

It Doesn't Play Out Like It Does In The Movies

First off, Happy New Years everyone.

Yeah, first time I went out in a very long time. I decided to hang with my friends downtown. Went to a bar drank some drinks. I took a friend I'd met in Cincinnati. I developed feeling for her which was a huge mistake, since most women who come out here are mental. But, my folks actually introduced us. It was in Cincy at my Dad's friend's restaurant that she was the hostess. I remember her vividly as she stood out from the Asian faces. Caucasian, a little on the tall side. blue eyes, weird. I got her email and phone and I kept in contact. But then, she disappeared.

Fast forward three years later and she makes it out to Los Angeles. She emailed me. And we eventually meet up. She is a LOT of fun. Good sense of humor. Wild child. I didn't know how wild until later.

We hung out a few days later in Santa Monica. It was a great time. It'd been a while since I laughed. She was so much fun. We were to spend New Years together.

New Years. I got tanked. And hung out at my friend James's place. James is a a great dude. Photographer, like yours truly. Well, we went out to a bar. I cleared a $100 tab. And headed back to his studio. I fell asleep in his waiting room. His apartment is also a studio. When I woke up, I saw my friend posing nude for James. Not that it bothered me, but...it bothered me. We had some drinks. And I said things I wish I had not said. Then we went back to my car, which is where all hell broke loose. I professed how much I had cared for her. And she shot me down. Absolutely pissed that I would attempt to "control" her. I told her how much I disliked her doing nudes. I had no say in the matter. It wasn't my business and she can do what she pleases. She ended up crashed out on my couch. In the morning, I did it. Yes...folks...stupid as it sounds, I did it. I told her that I was in love with her.

I know, it's stupid. It's shit you wouldn't even write in a BAD script. But I did it. And she just shot me down--HARD. Yeah, most people say crap to say crap. But her schtick was that she wasn't in a place to fall in love. B.S. NO ONE is in a place to fall in love. But, and a HUGE BUT, for the right person, ANYONE can fall in love. So that's where ended. So you would think.

She left my apartment, but was lost as to where her car was. I walked out to move my car. I caught her on her way to her car. And I thought (yes, folks, this is embarrassing) maybe she just needs a little lip magic. I pinned her to her car and attempted to kiss her. "I just need to know" I told her. COMPLETELY clumsy and off. She turned to and fro missing my lips. She clearly did not want to be kissed. And that friends, is where it ended. Just sad sad sad stupid guy who thought more of a relationship than what was there. It saddens me and makes me laugh at the same time. Our friendship is over. You can't be friends and know one person feels more than the other. It hurts. I had such a good time with her and she just has no filter. But, it's done now. I already miss her. What's-her-name. It just doesn't play out like you see in the movies.