Month: May 2014
Getting ourselves acquainted …
Over the last week, we’ve been making our way into the new studio space. It’s weird to think we’re taking this giant leap, at least for us, to have a real commercial work space.
I have my work setup on a rolling desk. Bill’s going to do the same thing. That way we don’t have to worry about our things getting in the way. If we need a certain area for shooting, we’ll just roll our desks out of the way.
My head is spinning with how to make this transition smoothly. It’s so exciting that it’s hard to concentrate.
Neil deGrasse Tyson on Bill Gates’ Wealth
Must … repost … this … photo of Hollywood star … as a … baby
But you have to go where I found it to learn who it is …
Hint: it’s so worth it.
Visual comedy is an art
This video is the closest I get to church experiences in which — while I’m watching — I’m all vocal, saying the equivalent of “Preach it, brother!” and “Uh huh! Yes! So true!”
There are a lot of movies that I absolutely can’t stand because of the lack of visual jokes. Sight and aural gags are the funniest forms of comedy as they stretch back the furthest into comedic history.
Enjoy this video as much as I did and you get a pat on the back.
Mariachis!
Back in 2011, we shot a wedding in Mexico.
Life happens, and the bride is finally getting around to selecting her pictures for her photo album.
I get it, and I’m sure full-time wedding photographers have protocols in place to make sure their clients get in and get things done in a timely way after the wedding.
Personally I don’t mind revisiting a week of my life from a few years ago suffering away under the Mexican sun in a paradisiacal resort.
And then there was Maya Angelou, 1928-2014
Maya Angelou passed away.
Heaviness is mine.
Below are some quote/memes.
A heavy reminder of mortality
Yesterday, Tina and I were digging through a couple different second-hand stores looking for things that might be suitable for our studio.
I looked down at my phone and a text informed me that a friend died.
Let’s call him Sam.
I think Sam was my age. Late 30s. I met him at our local watering hole back in 2007 or so. On the occasion that I was there on a Friday or Saturday night playing pool, Sam inevitably waddled in and put his name on the board.
He was a guy I pined to beat, as — at the time — he was better than I was.
Sam was quirky. He had a bit of a waddle when he moved. A slide of the feet. When he shot pool, he was quick, deliberate and exact.
At the time, I knew him by name, but he was more of an acquaintance. After meeting Bill, we all became friends. I had no idea Sam was a photographer, too. Just like Bill got me into concert photography, Bill got Sam into it.
Sam recently bought a bunch of new gear, including a new camera and lens. He really looked up to Bill, and from what I understand, looked up to me, too.
For the past month or more, he asked if he and I could do something together so he could pick my brain about photography. I told him, “Of course.” He loved the White Sox, and he said that when the season gets going a little more, he’d nail down a time.
Sam also loved to world travel, and he shared many secrets with me about how he finds cheap airfare. He would also send me messages about different art exhibits in the city that I should consider going to.
He gave me his passes for SOFA last year because he knew I was one of his only friends who would go.
Sam had a distinct artistic side. He was meticulous and spent hours, days and weeks creating longboards and jewelry. He loved to ride and show off walls of longboards he built.
The details of his death are still to be determined. And hurts me to think about, and I’m not sure exactly what I think about the whole thing. His privacy is somehow important to me.
I’m not one to consider him in the next world, whether heaven or hell or ESPN sports zone. But I would like to see his memory continue among his friends.
But, man, it’s such a heavy feeling.
Making memories on Memorial Day
Our Memorial Day weekend went swimmingly.
It was one of the hottest weekends we’ve had so far this year, and it was sprinkled with rain and thunderstorms.
I realize that Memorial Day is primarily a reminder about our fallen in the face of protecting this country and her freedoms. I have a hard time with the Hallmark-y-ness of it all, with people posting on Facebook or other social media with flags and or other statements of well, if we respected our fallen, we’d try not to make war anymore.
As if one voice has superiority over the next or that anyone gives a shit what you share on the Internets.
But for me, it’s a weekend that lands us in the warmer weather and is an excuse to gather friends in a country so great that we can spend a day together making memories.
Honoring that freedom by being free is honorary enough.
There’s another local phenomenon around Chicago, which I imagine is other places as well, called “Sunday Funday.” And it’s another excuse to get your ass out to bars, only this time on Sunday, and take the day before the long workweek to pound a few … only during the day so you can get home earlier.
I thought that Sunday Funday was one Sunday of the year, but apparently there is no limit to Sunday Fundays. Plus it was Memorial Day weekend, and any excuse to party in Chicago is usually met with open arms. Flailing open arms.
We don’t take part in these SFs, but apparently we’re in the minority.
On Sunday night, we were lying in bed only to be awoken to a guy yelling at another person.
I was stirred by the words, “I can fucking vomit all over your fucking cab if I want to!”
Silence for a beat or two.
The same voice: “Yes I CAN!!!”
“I don’t owe you FIFTY FUCKING DOLLARS!!! Mother fucker, I detail cars for a living. It costs $10 to clean vomit out of a car.”
Another couple beats of silence.
“Fuck you, man. You can go fuck yourself. … Call the police! What do I care. … Go back to Bagdad, you stupid piece of shit. GO BACK TO BAGDAD!!!”
By this time, I had walked to the front windows and looked out to see who was screaming at who. It was a guy, with two other people.
When he finally slammed the car door, and walked away, he walked toward the sidewalk on our side of the street, then to the sidewalk on the other side of the street. Then aimlessly in the middle for a few minutes.
It became quiet again, and I returned to bed and soon fell back asleep.
I couldn’t help but laugh a few times, though, before falling back asleep about the words, “I can vomit all over your cab if I want to.”
It’s this kind of attitude that is disrespectful to this country and all it stands for.
But yesterday, Tina, Talulah and I drove out to the ‘burbs to celebrate American Freedom with our friends. We moved in and out of shelter to avoid the rain.
Bill and I ended up getting several hundred photos of our group. Enjoy some of them here and below the fold.
Le Café Wittypoots 