Perhaps this should be “new testament god for president.” Or part of the new testament god for president … but definitely not a broad stroked, “God for president.”
art, politics, religion: discuss
iPhone style message bubble says, “i don’t exactly hate you, but if you were on fire and I had water, i’d drink it.”
Illustrative graphic of bacon in bed says, “This is how bacon bits are made.” One bacon says to the other, “I’m not on the pill.”
Two cats, one has its tail in front of the others eyes, says, “These aren’t my glasses.”
SIgn on door says: “Children left unattended will be eaten or sold into slavery.”
Illustrative graphic of facebook, twitter, wordpress, youtube, blogger logos in bombs says, “Weapons of Mass Distraction.”
In case you want the pamphlet of the 15 questions no evolutionist can answer, go here.
Click to access 15-questions-for-evolutionists-s.pdf
My usual buttons aren’t working and I don’t know the HTML code to link off hand.
There’s obviously something wrong with wordpress today.
WordPress put a damper on the blog this morning. I sent them a note, and they finally said, “We’re sorry for the inconvenience. We didn’t intend to shut you down.”
So that was why it was quiet this morning.
Hey! The universe must know my birthday is coming up. We landed a couple of jobs next week (right on my birthday). It’s not a big deal. I’ll take the business.
September is going to be a good month for us.
I got an email from my buddy Bill (hey, Bill!) that said, “Thanks for letting me borrow your GoPro to go hang gliding in pristine weather conditions, rafting in a death river and to jump off a 30 foot drop into a body of water … by the way … I lost the GoPro!”
But that means he owes me, like, a MILLION GAZILLION dollars … Happy Birthday to me!
Go pro, friends, go pro.
On top of that, regular-reader, blogger, and musician Taylor Muse sent me an advanced, super secret copy of his forthcoming album … and it’s so badass that I want to share it illegally with all of you so you can know the brilliance that is Taylor. His band is called Quiet Company, and you should add them to your playlist as soon as you get a chance.
Unfortunately I can’t send you my copy, but I might buy some of you regular readers copies as thank you gifts once it’s released. The subject matter is apropos to this blog, and for a minute I questioned why he sent me the tracks … then I listened to it, and I said, “Holy awesome lyrics about belief and non! That’s why!”
I’ve listened to the album all the way through once, and relistened to a couple tracks. I’ll write a better review in its own post soon, but the music is rich, thick and layered with great nuanced ideas, changes that make me happy as a cat-nipped cat, and vocals that make you want to pick up a microphone and sing along.
There are these emotional moments during some of the songs that grab at my heart strings, and they are accentuated with these moments of excited vocal punches that is nothing short of perfect at the perfect time.
The lyrics are so painfully honest and real that it feels like Taylor dipped into my head and ripped out my thoughts … which is what poetry and music should do, right?
Yesterday, I was inspired to shoot street photography … my version of street photography anyway.
My challenge is to talk to the people I’m going to shoot once in a while. I asked a couple people for permission. The other challenge is to not ask for permission, and get their portrait. I want people looking at me, so that you can know what it’s like to have eye contact with a stranger. Chicagoans don’t give eye contact to strangers, so it’s especially hard.
There was this one girl who I desperately wanted to ask permission, but she was so beautiful that my mouth went mushy. I must get past that.
The show stopper was the shot above. I gave the guy some money, and asked if I could shoot his portrait. He agreed, and I took a few frames.
Other shots are of people jumping into Lake Michigan. The first one was from a group of guys throwing a wiffle ball and catching it before hitting the water. The other is a group of Irish kids (I think they’re Irish). Their names were impossible to understand as a dumb American. I mean, his name was Ruairi, pronounced Rori.
When the rest of them told me their names, I just cried and walked away.
Click on the images to enlarge. I’ll share more photos soon. I don’t want to overwhelm you, but I have a LOT of really fun ones.