Being juuuust inebriated enough to barrel through a bullshit work assignment, but not so inebriated that you click ‘Send’ on the email belonging to the person to whom the assignment needs to be delivered.
I am still haunted by the last 10 minutes of last Sunday’s Walking Dead.
I’ve always the line “love you like a fresh vegetable”, which is from a reggae song that was popular in my 20s. Or 30s. I can’t remember. But I remember that lyric, and sing it often.
I don’t shop at Wal-Mart. Not because I have anything against cheap shit made in China - hell, it’s figured out a way to be really successful selling crap. Its supply chain and distribution system is unparalleled in the business world. More power to them. I don’t shop there because of how it pays and treats the people who work there.
I worry that people will treat my elder daughter differently than my younger, because she has darker skin.
I love shooting nudes, but I also love shooting pretty much anything involving humans and the human condition. I long to capture a perfect documentary/decisive moment, as Bresson did, effortlessly.
I only know Kally through a limited number of interactions over the past year and a half - but from what I do know, I figure she’s probably slightly embarrassed by the attention…not to mention the appreciation from many who have seen these images. She’s probably glad that I’m done plastering her body all over my blog.
So I have to have to have to thank her for first trusting me enough to capture what she envisioned, and then for allowing me to showcase them here. As I said earlier, I think these are some of the best photographs I’ve taken thus far. She was and is an incredible, lovely subject, and I am really glad I could help her document what was a milestone for her. I’m grateful that she allowed me to show them, and her, off a little.
Every shot I posted today was one that we both really liked. There were more, but it’s time to go eat dinner and snuggle with my wife in front of the TV now.
“About 1,500 shoppers, some who waited since 10 a.m. yesterday morning and ate their turkey dinners while standing in line, streamed into the store as soon as its doors opened, snagging flat-screen TVs, laptops, and digital cameras.”—The Boston Globe, 11.25.11. Consider the sheer level of assness involved in this sentence.
For some reason, when I looked at my daughter this morning, the fact that we came close to losing her at one point hit me like a ton of bricks.
It happens sometimes, although less than it did when she was a baby. Maybe it was because I thought she looked beautiful this morning (and wasn’t acting like a 3 year old). I picked her up and kissed her on her cheek, and it just hit me: you might not have been here.
When Rachel was 3 months along, we were sitting watching television in our tiny apartment. We had come back from a short trip to Vegas the day before - the last we would take as a childless couple. All of a sudden, she felt wetness. In a rush. As in, the kind you might feel when your water breaks. Which, at 3 months, is not what you want to feel.
I remember the drive to the hospital that night. Neither of us said much. I just held her hand as we drove to Mount Auburn, and every so often, she would cry. I’d squeeze her hand tighter, and fight back worry-tears myself. No sense in both of us being upset, right? Rachel was 37 at the time, and we both knew that her age meant that she was at somewhat higher risk with a pregnancy, and that…well, anything could happen.
We spent the night in the hospital. 2 detailed ultrasounds - one when we were admitted, and one the next morning, 7 hours later. The first one revealed that the placenta had become detached from the uterine wall. Apparently, that can happen - and it can result in miscarriages. There wasn’t much they could do except watch it, to make sure that it didn’t worsen or cause Rachel to bleed. The second ultrasound would tell us what we need to know and verify that everything was okay, they said.
That was the worst night of my life. We both dozed off now and again, but Rachel would weep often, and we didn’t get any sleep.
The second ultrasound revealed no further tearing. The doctors told us that in cases like ours, the placenta often reattached itself over time - but due to Rachel’s age, the pregnancy would be classified as “high risk” from that point, and we would have to go see a high-risk pregnancy specialist and get ultrasounds every month until birth. As a result, we have tons of ultrasound pictures - more so than most pregnancies, which usually only require them 2 or 3 times. We were able to watch her grow - and with every one, I remember feeling so fucking relieved that she was, in fact, growing.
She’ll be 3 next month, and (acknowledging my total and obvious bias) she and her sister are the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Her current age means that she annoys the living crap out of us often - that’s her job - but this morning, she was perfect, and perfectly beautiful. As I dropped her off at day care, I said “Daddy loves you so, so much - you know that, right?” She replied, “yes Daddy - and I love my Daddy too.”
I absolutely cannot fathom what life without her would be like.
4 walls and a roof
That we can afford the previous point
In fact, women
But boobs, yeah
My in laws (i.e., that I genuinely like them)
That Maxine (my 1997 Maxima) still runs great
Where I was born and grew up
I’m regular! (Fiber!)
My wife loves to cook and is incredibly good at it
My ass (this brother thanks his mama for a butt like that)
Boy! When ah tell yuh, I reeeal like mih Tanksgivin’.
I know I eh grow up in dis country, so I eh have no tradition to force mihself to deal with. Mih wife does lime wit’ she faddah every Tanksgivin’, going back donkey years to when he and she mudda did divorce - an’ since, like ah say, it have nutting holdin’ mih foot any particular where come dat Thursday, I cool wit’ liking wherever she wants to go.
Usually, that’s at mih wife’s stepmudda brudda house, but due to circumstances, we cya reach dey until Friday. Health issues among de paterfamilias and materfamilias, nuh. So me, mih wife, we two chirren, her two sisters, her pops, and her stepmom liming at we house tonight and tomorrow. We have enough food for a small lil’ Thanksgivin’ cookup. More importantly, de wine in abundance, mih peoples!
So we go drink, eat, drink, be merry, and drink some more. Wine go drink, food go eat, shit go talk. Go be good.
I done start arready. Dinner tonight is pasta. Wine is…red.
The only thing that garners ‘Likes’ on Tumblr faster than boobs are cats and Dr. Who. Which is pretty fucked up, if you ask me.
Post photographs of a beautiful nude woman, get new followers. Which is not fucked up at all.
I always say to people I shoot that I may not be able to get to editing and retouching for a while, because of my non-photography schedule. However, if said person is naked, chances are I’ll get to them faster than I will my Philosophy paper or my Quantitative Methods homework.
I know some really incredible women as a result of Tumblr. Meeting and hanging out with them in person in a small setting (that is, not a huge-ass meetup) is one of, if not the, best by-product of my being on Tumblr.
The fact that a larger-than-expected proportion of those women want me to photograph them in various stages of undress doesn’t suck in the slightest.
Whiny bratty kids -> refusal to nap -> increasingly pissed off parents -> ‘had enough!’ parents -> ‘ain’t taking no shit’ parents -> ‘not entertaining even the slightest bit of whinging’ parents -> “get up, let’s go, I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT!” -> kids shocked into utter and complete silence at wrath of parents for last half hour.
Our parenting philosophy: 99% love, 1% “shit, my mom and dad are fucking crazy, and I dunno what they’re gonna do if I fuck up”.
There was Tasmanian trout, and Nantucket scallops, and lentil pasta, and Scottish hare, and veal confit, and absolutely perfect wine pairings with each course. Shout out to Ines from Portugal, who absolutely knew her shit.
The absolute best dessert I’ve ever had, blowing away a caramelly toffee sticky pudding thing I had in Vail in 2004.
Chef Tony Maws came out to describe the final savory course to us (veal), much to my wife’s delight.
Seriously - that dessert (affogato) gave me goose bumps.
Why do we focus on the one negative in a sea of positives? This may or may not be concerned with a vibe I got from a student in my class today - who, despite being the one person in a class of 30 who seemed put off, even annoyed, by my presence, threw me off my game for a few minutes. And I find myself thinking about that now, as opposed to the other 29 individuals who seemed to get something out of the class.
This week has been really draining. This is the first time I’ve felt swamped since starting the doctoral program while teaching - I have 2 classes going on these days, and through December 10. I have resorted to focusing only on what is immediately in front of me, just to get through the day. I hate that feeling that I’m not in front of stuff - but there’s a lot to be in front of these days.
It’s taking less and less time to complete my stats homework. (Still sucks that I have to deal with some next week though.)
Monday is gonna be aaaawwweeeeesomeeeeeee.
So will December 29th!
I sometimes feel like the bastard stepchild in my doctoral program. I’m the only one there even remotely interested in marketing issues. Bentley is a school with a good reputation for accounting, IT, and organizational/management issues, so naturally most students fall into one of those three categories. I chose Bentley because of my advisor, who shares an attitude about work and business with me - but still, it would be nice to feel less alone.
Academic articles on accounting topics SUCK.
Going out with my wife tonight, to a really nice (and expensive) restaurant, on the dime of one of her clients. Nw that Friday is here, and I have finished all but one other thing on my To Do list for the day, I can afford to actually be excited about it.
In which, in true West Indian guy fashion, a desire to lime, drink, play music loudly, and conduct general lollygagging overpowers any desire/obligation to do anything productive - due to the impending holiday period.
I love Thanksgiving. It’s my favorite American holiday. When I first came to this country and didn’t know anyone, people I hardly knew invited me to their house, and told me that I was invited to - nay, expected to - gorge my face and fall asleep on their couch watching sports. Thanksgiving made this newly transplanted furriner feel welcome and happy. And full. At a time when I didn’t have any money or friends or family close by.
Since then, I have become part of a family here, who get together every Thanksgiving to eat, drink, talk shit, whine, bitch, and be merry. My wife’s sister is coming in from London next week, and this will be the first Thanksgiving when all 3 of the sisters are in Boston together for an extended period (sister #2 lives here now). They’ve planned shenanigans, and the girls are all excited about having their aunties in the house.
I dig it.
What I don’t dig is the shitfucktonload of work and school stuff I have to do before next week.