Beware the Ides of March


Life is happening at break neck speeds. It’s not a mystery. I’ve heard others complain.

I look around and I can’t keep up. It gets me down. The other day I did the math. I’m awake more, so I should be getting more done.

But the sparkling colors and lights on my computer screen are often distracting. People complain about procrastination, but I complain about the temptress link in the corner of my browser to visit any number of worthless websites that do not contribute to my overall wellbeing.

Yesterday I took care of the Ferrari mess. I hope it’s taken care of anyway. There was an initial number provided and we agreed upon a sum of money for repair. That number has been transferred to the owner. Plus, some. I actually did a photo shoot on the house of the guy.

The last couple of days have been a stressful heap of anxiety with layers of tension so thick between Tina and I that we’ve had to hug it out in the middle of a fight.  Continue reading


Put things into perspective

dogs copy.jpg

Last week I wrote about a stand falling on a Ferrari Testarosa during a photoshoot. 

It took its toll on me. After it happened, I was shaking. If there’s one thing my parents taught me it’s to respect other people’s property. If there’s one thing my dad taught me it’s to respect cars.

When we were growing up, my brother and I would scream from the backseat to take us by car dealerships … My dad would drive us to see Ferraris and Porsches and Lamborghinis and Rolls Royces.

We could look so long as we didn’t touch.

“No touching!”

When the stand went down on the Ferrari, I had disrespected my sacred oath to the universe to mind other people’s property AND other people’s cars.

And I shook from the disappointment, the failure, the shame, the embarrassment.

The act of admitting my failure to the owner of the car, calling him directly, and beginning the process of repairing the vehicle was heart-wrenching.

Later that day, after I met with the owner face to face, after my heart was pumping so much fear-induced blood … I glanced at Facebook. I saw that a friend’s longtime partner was hit by a car a day earlier and she was in the hospital.

I immediately called. He explained that on her way to work, she was crossing a road and a woman turning left at a light in an SUV didn’t see her and rammed right into her. She broke bones, ribs, cracks in her pelvis. She may need tons of surgery, and months if not years to recover. Her pain levels were the highest decibel screams you’ve ever heard.

A flood of realization hit me. I damaged a fucking car. My friend’s girlfriend was almost killed by a goddamn motorist. I have my health. I can walk. I can still go to the bathroom without a thought. These things can happen instantaneously. And they do.

So I decided to get my head out of my ass about the Ferrari.

We all have things happen to us in life. It’s so fucking unfair. A friend and her husband recently went full term with their baby, delivered it, and it died within hours of delivery.

Damaging a fucking Ferrari is nothing.

Seventeen families and friends and teachers and students recently heard about their loved ones, many of them kids (kids!), dying, shot dead, murdered by an asshole with a gun and a mental issue …

And a stand going down on a Ferrari fades into a level of “who cares?”

Not that I want to invite something awful to happen to me, or Tina, or anybody. But often times perspective is necessary when staring at your “woe is me” attitude.

Perspective is key. It’s humbling. It’s honest.

Above pic: Therapy dogs waiting for Parkland students

Ride along on another photoshoot

Life moved a little fast last week. I realized I didn’t post this video here, so maybe you didn’t see it. 🙂

Two weeks ago, I went to the doctor to have a little white dot above my right eye looked at. It’s been there for about 15 or more years. For a long time, I didn’t really notice it. Circa 2008, I was playing pool on a league match at a bar, and a woman I was talking to told me I had something in my eye. At first, I rubbed it, but then realized she was looking at my little dot.

I would go in and out of caring that it was there.

And lately, I’ve been doing more video blogs and it’s the first thing my eye would go to. For example, my buddy and former studio partner bill posted this light test on his Instagram and all I see is “dot.”

At the optometrist a few years ago, the doctor asked me if I knew what it was. I told her no. She said, “It’s likely a cholesterol deposit.” I told her my doctor hasn’t said anything. Bu then the worries of it being from high cholesterol got into my head. That was a few years back, but I concerned myself over it often. I even dreamed about it several times.

So I went to the doctor to see how hard it would be to remove. I waited in an office for 20 or 30 minutes two weeks ago. This little foreign man with an accent I couldn’t place and an entourage of three interns and a nurse walked in the room, he took one look at it, told me that he thinks it’s skin build up …

“Do you want it removed?”



“Um, sure.”

So he numbed it lickity split, scraped at it with a syringe, pushed out what was inside, cauterized it, and told me to come back in two weeks. Two weeks is today.

He also told me he was reading a book that said the word “moist” is perceived by many people to be negative. It’s not that the word itself is bad. It’s the way it sounds. “Huh.” I said. That’s all to say, “You need to keep the spot moist with this ointment.” And he handed me a tube of white cream and a few sterile industrial sized Q-tips.

It’s now a scab. I’m not sure what’s worse: a small white dot over my eye or a large black scab. Hopefully, it’s all going to be gone soon!

In the meantime, check the above video and be sure it keep it moist!


Why do we have irregular verbs?


Ride, rode. Drink, drank. Why do some English verbs not fit the expected pattern? Why do irregular verbs exist? Produced for Mental Floss.

For more information, see this essay at


It has many forms, and they’re all quite short: “be,” “is,” “am,” “was,” “were”. But the importance of the verb “to be” is humongous. It might not seem that interesting. It’s a straightforward workhorse, giving us the means to talk about what things are, or, simply, that they exist. It sometimes plays a minor supporting role as a helper to more exciting, meaning-packed verbs. It keeps itself so small and unobtrusive that we hardly notice that it’s the big, beating heart of our language. As David Crystal notes in his book “The Story of Be,” it “has developed a greater range of meanings and uses, and a wider range of variant forms, than any other English word.”