Little too much.

Let me tell you how bad I was this Easter. Not only did I fall off the blogging wagon, I ate beef for the first time in two months. Trust me, it wasn't worth the arguement that would have transpired if I tried to explain to my Texas family that I wasn't eating beef. (It's not really founded in anything, I just sort have decided I didn't like it very much anyway.)

My brain's just sort of been all over the place. Even at work, I really can't focus. I get everything done, but I feel like I can only work on something for five minutes at a time, like I need 15 projects to be happening all at once or I feel unproductive. It's hard enough getting through typing this.

I'll be back soon. I'm sure this can be one of the many projects I'm needing to keep my brain busy these days. Have no fear. I can tell you this; change is in the air. It's tornado season and Oklahoma finally got some rain. Everyone seems to be making big decisions lately and while I think most of mine came early (in January), I'm really excited to see what this season has for me.


Until then, have a fat sandwich:

DFW.

DFW
February 21, 2009

I think airports would be one of those things that future civilations would look at and go, "What the hell was that?" Airports and freeway interchanges. No place better makes that point than Dallas Fort Worth International.

Dallas is a crazy-wealthy community. Everything is bigger in Texas, even its airports. Dallas wants to do nothing more than showcase its wealth. The airport is no exception. If they can upgrade that place in any way, they'll do it. Wnat another terminal? Good. Because I was thinking we needed one. Wanna build a toll rode through it because it's so massive? Good idea, doctor!

I had my D80 out for most of my trip back to New Jersey for my grandfather's funeral to take pictures from the plane and those are all lovely. But this ended up being one of my favorites. We got into DFW right when the sun was about to set. It made the light in this little waiting area absolutely enchanting.

Just a thought, an airport would probably be a decent place to hang out during the zombie apocolypse.

Lunchbox.

Lunchbox
May 19, 2009

The first few weeks I lived in Oklahoma were completely surreal. Nothing made sense. I got lost everywhere I went, I got drunk every night, I just was not myself. It was like I had my heart ripped out of my chest and I was 500 miles away from it. This isn't because Oklahoma was terrible. Oklahoma wasn't terrible. I was terrible and I would have been terrible no matter where I was. It took me a while to actually come-to and realize where I was and what had happened. And when I did, I realized I'd blown pretty much all of my savings at bars. Go figure.

Edna's took a good chunk of that because lunchboxes are delicious and $4 a piece. When you order them two at a time, chug them, love them, get more, buy your friends some... I've had a couple three-figure bar tabs at that place. But I'm pretty sure that's an Oklahoma rite of passage. I was making a new home and I didn't even realize it.

This is taken on Edna's patio. The dude is Murf, who I think was kinda sorta at that same place when I was. Me, him and Chelsey were a power-drinking ensemble for a while. The entire photo is just the reflection on the table, which was wet from all the lunchboxes that were once sitting there. Once again, let's stick the camera on the table and see what happens.

(Taken with a Nikon S610. No photoshopping. It's a random shot, but I'm kinda proud of it.)

Urban Yeti.

Urban Yeti
September 26, 2003

I ask only this of you, is there any place better to take pictures of people than at a Waffle House? I challenge you to find a superior setting. Every arguement that you present me, I will shoot down because it will inferior to the awesome power of grits and cheesy eggs.

(Taken with a Sony DSC-P32, when it was young and efficent. No Photoshopping. The reflection's pretty great.)

Dylan Star Does Not Want to Come Inside.

Dylan Star Does Not Want to Come Inside
March 12, 2006

Happy 4-20. Let's talk about Dylan Star.

If you know anything about Dylan, it's that he doesn't do well indoors. He wants to be outside at all times. That's probably why him and Kenneth are such good friends. When I took this photo, Dylan was living with his aunt, who was a upper level management person for MCI and had a GIANT, BEAUTIFUL house right on the bay in Annapolis. She had even had a private dock. I remember sitting on one of her luxurious couches and Dylan yelling at me though a window, "Why are you in there? I don't wanna be in there. Come out here!" That's the essence of that guy.

This is one of my favorite portraits ever. Dylan was driving his giant truck into Washington DC, windows down, the stereo was so loud I couldn't hear and his matted hair was blowing in the wind. It's one of those times when you actually feel like you're accurately captured a moment. It's a rare thing for me, but I like that feeling. Maybe you do get a bit of someone's soul when you take their picture (DEEP. Run for the hills!).

(Taken with the Sony DSC-P32. Image is grayscaled. That camera's capacity for accurately capturing light was completely gone by that point.)

No Smoking.

No Smoking
November 15, 2005

This is from one of the few times I took my camera out for school. The one photography class I took left a really bad taste in my mouth. I feel like I actually did learn a lot, but I really don't respond well to criticism and judgement, I take everything way too personal. Art studio students are a special breed, a breed that I can never be. You've got to have some thick skin to listen to people tear through your creativity for hours on end.

This was actually for a project for my human rights class, probably the class I worked the hardest in my entire college career. This lady was my professor. I loved that class. Our final project had to be about a human rights issue that affected a certain region and I picked probably the least popular region, the United States. My project was about our health care system, which was the project I wanted to do since the first day of class. I learned a whole lot and believe me when I tell you that the US has the greatest health care system in the world. But no one can afford it.

We had to provide some kind of visual aid with our project, so I ran around a few hospitals in the Albuquerque area and took pictures. My teacher and everyone else in my group loved it, which I don't understand. It almost feels like cheating. "So you're telling me I get to walk around, take pictures and you want to give me college credit with that? AND there's no critical analysis of the photos? Alright. Sounds good." About 2 hours of my life turned into an A.

I did spend some time photoshopping. I wanted to make them look as gritty and isolated as possible. This is actually from a construction site at UNMH, they were building the new children's hospital (above my beloved tunnels). Once again, it's almost cheating, but really, this is how your HMO feels about you.

(Taken with the Sony DSC-P32. It was screaming its siren song at me by that point. I photoshopped it years ago... contrast is overcooked and there's a film grain filter on there. The rest, you've got me. Original image.)

Behind the Scenes.

Behind the Scenes
October 18, 2005

If burlesque was good for anything, it was good for about 4 gigs worth of images that make me feel awesome about myself. Sometimes, it still makes me shake my head that once upon a time, being on stage with a small amount of clothing was something I was capable of doing. But most of the time, I'm really proud of myself and I hope that I'll be able to do it again one of these days.

I don't wear makeup. Makeup gives me severe anxiety. Up until probably my sophomore year of high school, so did my hair. So, maybe in another ten years, I'll be able to apply my own foundation without having a breakdown (that might be a metaphor...). One of the best things about burlesque is that it attracts lots of people who are really good at doing makeup! And they want to do yours! I remember a show when our makeup team all took mushrooms before the show and our makeup/hair all got progressively more interesting as the night went on. Beehives for everyone by the final number!

This was taken after the weirdest burlesque event to-date. It was at the Desert Sands Inn on San Mateo and Central (the motel used in No Country for Old Men). That neighborhood is the absolute best place to walk around almost-naked in Albuquerque. Camel cigarettes rented out the whole place for a private party. Ron Jeremy was the guest of honor and a Linkin Park side project called Bucket of Weenies played. As if that wasn't random enough, I ran into the ex-boyfriend who had dismissed me only weeks before and I locked my keys in my car. Kenneth had to rescue me from the ghetto at 2:00 in the morning. We'd only been living together for a few weeks, he was excited.

That hair is not mine, it's a super-long neon blue extension. I love how the image quality makes it look almost trashy, like it's taken from the backstage of a seedy strip club. It's almost a hangover in a photo. This is me trying to take a photo of my and taking one of my neck. That's cool. I like this one better.

(Taken with a Sony DSC-P32. Freaking believe it. Color balance is 'shopped.)

Jeremiah Jump.

Jeremiah Jump
November 1, 2009

By far, one of the best people I've met in Oklahoma is Jerry Jump. He's just a solid guy that can talk about anything. We drove to Florida together and that car ride was as close to awesome as it could be just because he was in the car.

The last day of Fest, I was dead-tired. My feet were giving out underneath me. So, instead of standing around in a venue for six hours, Jerry and me took a break and got coffee. This picture's from that. There's not a whole lot I can say about it, really. If you know Jerry, you know he's man-petite. And it's all heart. The cup's actually for expresso shots so the angle makes it look much larger. Jerry said he'd finally found coffee his size.

(Taken with a Nikon S610. I never take enough pictures at Fest.)

I Wanna Go Fast.

I Wanna Go Fast
December 18, 2004

I didn't know it at the time, but this was the last Christmas I'd spend in Raton. My mom moved to Belen the next fall. In fact, it was the last time I'd spend more than a night in Raton, to date. And Raton during Christmas is a god damn riot. It's probably because I associate it with when I was a kid and Christmas ruled, but having Christmas in a town where people actually go to the Christmas tree lighting is sorta awesome. My old friend Kim said Raton was the kind of place she'd want to live in for a summer, fall in love and move away. I think that sounds like an amazing idea.

Raton loves Christmas. They put up all these lights all over the town. There's free movies, recitals, it's all very enchanting. Probably the funniest part is the City of Bethlehem and the jerks don't have a website. Basically, a few community groups sponsor these paintings on, well, plywood, to be put up in a canyon within the Raton city limits. You drive through this canyon and these paintings with plaques, that light up randomly, tell the story of the birth of the baby Jesus. But over the years they've added in more paintings that all have to do with Jesus, just not about his birth. So, really it's just a canyon for Christ. Every so often, some teenage hooligan will "break into" the canyon (and really I mean, walk in) and spray paint offensive things on the Jesus plywood paintings. Everyone in Raton gets really upset and then it's over in two weeks. The pagentry of Christmas in rural America.

Anyway, this Christmas, Stancie was working at the Holiday Inn Express and I spent the night hanging out with her and good friend Michael Vanbuskirk. This is one of those pictures where you stick the camera out the window out the window and see what happens. I got the motion blur, the Seasons Greetings sign and Stancie's battered car. I can't tell you how many miles I logged in the passenger seat of that very car, riding down that exact stretch of road. Probably thousands.

Banana Hands.

Banana Hands.
November 7, 2003

Kyle Anaya always said Chad had banana hands. If the definition of 'banana hands' is giant, then yes. He certainly did have banana hands.

I loved Chad's hands. They were calloused without exception and almost always had paint, marker or dirt all over them. Chad was a dude and he really couldn't keep himself clean. But I adored him for that and the rest of his simple ways. I've always liked the way paint or marker looks on hands. It's like you've actually done something with your day.

This picture is from the very, very beginning of our courtship; it's my hand inside his. We were sitting outside Rio Grande High School after a Big Spank show. I really liked this picture when I took it. It was my desktop wallpaper for probably our entire relationship. We dated for about six months, gloriously crashed & burned and now, almost seven years later, he's in federal prison. I might have dodged a bullet. Still like the picture though.

(Taken with a Sony DSC-P32. No photoshop. That lighting's pretty true. Why do all high schools have the same giant, fluorescent yellow lights?)