Insert Witty Title Here

dirtyolman @ 2008-12-12T11:34:00

2008-12-12T16:31:46Z

I'm now 45.

My baby sister is cancer free and has a restructured boob.

Christmas is here, which means it is time for my annual Meaning Of Christmas sermon.

Hi.

Realities Of Life

2008-11-07T20:28:39Z

I will be 45 in less than month. My beautiful wife just turned 48. My equally beautiful and vivacious and outrageous baby sister is 38, and has breast cancer. She's having a mastectomy done on 11/18.

38 - healthy lifestyle (other than being a workaholic) - no history of breast cancer in the family - and here we go.

That's the way the world turns, folks.

Stray socks in the laundry

2008-11-04T15:07:03Z

By popular demand, I'm back with a rambling update. Let's start, shall we?

Election 2008
Once again I "wasted my vote" by not voting for either of the two major party candidates. Neither was an acceptable choice for me, and I refuse to accept that I have only a choice of two.

No, I do not think everyone should get out and vote. If you don't know the names of the candidates and their running mates, if you don't know your state senators, if you don't know how much income tax you paid last year, you should just stay home. "Disenfranchised"? No, but frankly, those who are too lazy or stupid to know how we're being governed shouldn't have a say in how we're governed.

Website
It is time for another overhaul of my website. Time to move it from a vanity site to show off my photography and towards trying to make a few bucks from this hobby of mine.

Photography
November is booked solid once again, and I'm leaving December open for family and Christmas.

Family
My baby sister - all of 36 years old - has been diagnosed with breast cancer. She has done all the due diligence, tested, checked, re-tested, re-checked, and she will have a mastectomy later this month. Those of you who have met my sister know that she got the looks in the family.

Stupid Smart People

2008-09-16T13:08:37Z

This past weekend I got into a political discussion with a family member (who I will call R). I'm not one to turn away from talks of sex, politics, or religion, so I encouraged R to speak his views on the current presidential race.

It was a good discussion. He accused me of throwing away my vote by refusing to vote for either of the two major party candidates. I retorted with a well-thought out argument why supporting third party candidates is good for the process, etc. Then, R pulls this out, "If you don't vote for McCain, and Obama wins, you will be directly responsible for allowing a Muslim terrorist to become president."

That brought the intelligent discourse to a grinding halt. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"It is a well known and documented fact that Obama was groomed by radical Muslims to be exactly where he is."

"A 'Manchurian Candidate'?"

"No, a Muslim president of a Christian nation. If Obama becomes president, he will have accomplished exactly what the same terrorist groups who infiltrated our pilot schools and airlines set out to do."

At this point I was aghast. From intelligent debate to outright lunacy! Of course, I asked him to back up his assertions, and he started to rattle off such things as Obama's name, which "should be obvious to anyone," to his father being a member of a radical Islamic group, to his grandmother stating stating she was a proud Muslim, and on and on. R believes, as many people in US of A, that being a Muslim automatically makes a person an enemy America, and all Muslims are murderers and terrorists waiting for their orders to commit jihad.

There comes a point in any discussion/debate/argument when you may realize that the person with whom you are engaging has a point of view that is so far removed from reality that the discussion/debate/argument becomes futile. That's where I was with R. Instead of trying to debunk his conspiratorial points (which, I confess, at the time I had no reply for), I simply said, "You should see what football look like in HD."

Monday, R sent me his list of "proofs" that Obama was a sleeper awakened. I immediately went to my favorite fact checking website, and found the documented rebuttals for the points in R's forwarded forward of a forwarded forward of an email.

On Tuesday morning, he replied, "What makes you think your source is more reliable than mine? Obama is a terrorist who will destroy America and make us into a Muslim nation."

No amount of evidence will ever change the mind of a True Believer, and it truly frightens me that otherwise intelligent people such as R have formed opinions based on unsubstantiated scribblings from anonymous sources.

Where is my candidate?

2008-08-20T12:56:17Z

My political views tend to lean more towards the Republican side of things. I favor a small, decentralized government that rarely meddles in the day-to-day affairs of the citizens. I prefer to keep more of my income instead of handing it over to the government in the form of taxes (not just income taxes!). I own at least one firearm. I don't think everyone should vote. I would even be in favor of a "poll test" before you can vote - you have to name the senators from your state, the three branches of government, and know how much income tax you paid in the previous tax year. I am in favor of developing our own supplies of available oil, and I don't mind if the oil companies make outrageous profits from their work.

On the flip side, I'm pro-choice, pro-gay marriage, fierce about free speech and separation of church and state. I want and expanded national (and state) park system that protects undeveloped and environmentally sensitive lands from rampant, uncontrolled development. I favor alternative energy sources. I'm opposed to the war on drugs. I support an open-border policy. I am tired of the never-ending war in Iraq and Afghanistan, and am ready for our involvement to be dramatically reduced.

Yes, I am damn sick and tired of George W. Bush. Whatever good he did in the first 5 years of his presidency have been diluted by the train wreck of the last 3.

Where is my candidate? McCain? Close, but no. He's been in the Washington Power Factory for too long. I admire the system-bucker he used to be, but he's been towing that typical right-wing line and probably owes too many people too many favors.

Obama? Oh hell no. I would love to be friends with a man like him - drink beer together in St. John, maybe listen to the new James Hunter album, and discuss our political views. But the man wants my money, wants more intrusion into my life, etc., etc.. And in spite of what many think, he is just another well-connected white man in politics. Remember, his black father abandoned him and his white mother who moved to Kansas where he grew up with his white grandparents. He's more middle-class white than working-class black.

So here comes another election year with just 2 viable choices. No candidate to represent my views. No one in power who thinks/believes as I do. Looks like another write in for Kermit The Frog for me.

From my desk

2008-08-14T12:36:01Z

You have new Picture Mail!, originally uploaded by edselby.

I have an account on Flickr, and I discovered I can send pictures from my phone to Flickr. So here's a shot of the digital picture frame on my desk. That's Magen's Bay in St. Thomas, USVI - the place that inspired, or bewitched, Talisa and me to take this upcoming week long and decadent vacation.

There are about 20 pictures that rotate thru the frame reminding me of where we're heading, and to remind me that this awaits in just a little over a month.

dirtyolman @ 2008-08-13T09:18:00

2008-08-13T13:17:38Z

Make your own Wordle!

Drive By Posting

2008-08-12T13:36:55Z

I guess the "need" to post a journal doesn't really exist much anymore - either that or I'm just too busy to post. The most likely reason, however, is that I don't have much to say anymore. But here's a drive-by of my life.

My Son
Thomas pretty much flunked out of his first year at community college. Not going to class tends to lead to not passing. My brother-in-law works for an international telcom company with a large network center here in Atlanta. He told Thomas to go do Devry, get an associates in network administration, and he could get Thomas an entry level position at the telcom company. Once in, and after he's proved himself, the company will pick up the tab on training for the various switches and routers an international telcom company utilizes.

So Thomas has enrolled at Devry. Fingers are crossed.

The Never Ending Basement Remodel
If this project doesn't finish soon, I'm going to pull what's left of my hair out of my head! My tiki bar has become the construction materials storage room. There is dust everywhere - saw dust and drywall dust.

The bathroom/make-up room is 95% finished. The plumbers should be out this week to install the toliet, sink, and test all the pipes. I could have done those tasks, but my wife hired them to do the big plumbing tasks and they included the finish work in the price.

My studio is now half laminate floor with walls, trim, paint, and curtains and the other half is still bare concrete with seamless paper and background stand. I can shoot either direction with no problem. I just have to put up on more piece of ceiling and my PVC utility grids.

Personal Life
My wife and I got married 12 years ago, and though we have enjoyed beach vacations every year since then, those vacations have ALWAYS been with her family. Last spring, Talisa, Thomas, and I went on a cruise, our first vacation as just *our* family unit ever, and Talisa and I have had a few 4 day weekends. But we've never had a vacation for just the two of us since our honeymoon.

That changes in:

We're off to St. John for a whole week - just the two of us.

It is off-season there, so villa rentals and airfare are considerably more affordable than peak-season - which is why we can actually afford to go (okay, which is why we were able to juggle enough funds to go). We're staying here.

This is the view from the patio of the villa:

The patio faces west over the ocean and towards St. Thomas, so that means Virgin Island sunsets every night. We'll visit one beach a day and hang out with a Painkiller or Bushwacker at one of the local bars at night.

Am I excited? Well, DUH....

(Tinka, Kenny Chesney hangs out in St. John and the surrounding islands a bunch. Anything you want me to tell him if I see him down there?)

Other than that, life is normal and calm.....

BBQ

2008-07-03T13:19:57Z

It is the July 4th weekend! Grills will be fired up. Fireworks will be meted, and meat will be grilled. From the mountains to the prairies, the smell of charcoal smoke will fill the air wafting from the backyards and driveways of white and black, country folk and city folk. And most of them will say they are having a bar-b-que.

As a Georgia born and raised Southerner, I feel it is my duty to step in and correct most of you.

Any outdoor cooking over an open fire, is not a BBQ. It is, simply, and rightly, and deliciously "grilling" or "cooking out". I recall some years ago a few friends of mine - transplants from Ohio - invited me over to their house, a 3rd story walk-up condo, for a "BBQ". When I arrived, carrying a big gallon of freshly made sweetea [sic], I discovered that they were cooking hot dogs on a grill. My friends, that is not a BBQ.

A true BBQ involves cuts of meat slowly, and I mean SLOWLY, cooked over low heat with a balanced dose of hardwood smoke. One cannot BBQ a hot dog or hamburger. There is no such thing as a BBQ pork chop, and you will never ever have a BBQ steak.

BBQ is never wet. BBQ is dry. Spices are rubbed onto the meat (brisket, ribs, pork butt or shoulder only - chicken, while best cooked the BBQ way, can't be true BBQ - don't argue with me - you won't win), and the rubbed meat sits for at least a half day absorbing those spices.

A fire is started with hardwood or hardwood charcoal. That stuff that comes out of the bag at the grocery store should only be used as the base for the fire, on which you will put hardwood. No BBQ fire is lit with lighter fluid. In fact, no good grill fire should be lit with that crap either. I will go far as to say that lighter fluids are only used by people who can't build a fire in a fireplace without a gas starter and use a camp stove to cook hot dogs when (if) they go camping.

The rubbed meat is put on the part of the grill that doesn't have fire under it, and slowly -- slowly -- s l o w l y cooked. (A person who can cook good BBQ will be a great lover because she/he understands the importance of a good rub and cooking slow.) The hardwood is a matter of preference, but mesquite should be avoided for authentic Southern or even Kansas BBQ. Hickory, oak, pecan, even apple, are my favorite hardwoods for BBQ.

Well BBQed meat will be dark on the outside and have a sub-layer of pinkish meat just under the outside. That's the smoke ring. If someone serves you unchopped BBQ that doesn't have that pink ring, it isn't BBQ. It may taste good, and have a good sauce, but it isn't BBQ. That ring only happens when the meat is slowly cooked and smoked.

BBQ should be good without adding sauce, but BBQ will be GREAT with a good sauce. The arguments can be made over mustard-based sauces versus tomato based sauces, sweet sauce versus hot sauce. I won't venture into that debate; however, I will say that most mega-mart pre-bottled sauces are horrid. Avoid anything from Kraft or Hellmans or Heinz. If you must buy a sauce, look for the boutique or specialty sauces. Bone Sucking Sauce and Stubb's Sauce are two of my favorites. No matter what sauce you prefer, it should go onto the meat last! Yes, you can baste with the sauce, but you do that near the end of the cooking.

So now that you've cooked your BBQ the right way, you have to eat it the right way. Under no circumstances should wine be served with BBQ. The only alcoholic beverage suitable for BBQ is beer, and though it pains me to say, the only suitable beer with BBQ is a pale lager. Dark beers and BBQ don't mix. But the best drink to have with BBQ is sweetea - one word. There is no substitute.

For side dishes, cole slaw, baked beans, corn on the cob, even mac & cheese, are perfect. The best side dish is Brunswick stew, or just "stew". The perfect stew is another entry itself, but if you have to use a spoon to eat it, don't bother.

The only music suitable for BBQ is blues or country, or a hybrid.

If you don't want to venture into the hallowed ground of cooking your own BBQ (and I can't blame you for that!), and are going to buy it from a BBQ joint, remember this, if there isn't the smell of real wood smoke coming from the place, it isn't real BBQ. There are a number of so-called BBQ places around Georgia that don't even have a fire box. They simply roast or grill the meat, then drown it in sauce. Blech!

Best BBQ I've had in Georgia (in no particular order):

Fat Matt's Rib Shack, Atlanta - great ribs and blues!

Amos's, Ball Ground - a converted old small country house. They have a mountain of hardwood in front of the place. The fried apple sticks are really good.

Sconyers, Augusta - they don't serve stew, but they have a hash dish that angels sing about. Order a regular plate. Even I, a large guy, couldn't finish the regular plate.

Slopes, yeah, a chain - they may be a franchise, but they cook a good BBQ.

Col. Poole's, Ellijay - that's the place with the pigs everywhere. So far, the best BBQ I've had in Georgia.

Some road-side place, Eastman - I wish this place had a name and a location. It was this old black man serving BBQ pork sandwiches from his big smoker in an empty lot off the side of a country highway. $3 got me a big sandwich, home-made sauce, and large sweetea. He said he "jest goes ever-where I is allowed to set up."

Miss me?

2008-05-21T15:54:00Z

I'm still alive - still kicking - I apologize for being gone, but, frankly, LJ just hasn't been high on my list of Sites To Visit. So here is a VERY LONG ramble about where I've been and what I've been up to....

I had pneumonia for a few weeks. That was fun. Thankfully, I could do my job from home, so I stayed home, slept, worked, slept, and worked for about two weeks.

Post-pneumonia general physical indicates I am; a) 70-100 pounds overweight, b) borderline high blood pressure, c) borderline cholesterol issues - things that go with being middle-aged and sedantary.

I cut out an enjoyable but unhealthy part of my life almost a year ago, and while I have missed that part of my life - sometimes missed it VERY much - I haven't gone back to it at all.

We've been in a too long process of remodeling the basement of the house that is finally nearing an end.

I've been taking LOTS of pictures, but not all the regular pretty-girl stuff I ususally shoot.

My beautiful wife expressed disappointment that I have gotten away from my "artistic" approach to photography, and settled into comfort with "pretty girl" photography. She has no objection to it, mind you; she just misses the way I used to shoot. I actually have to agree with her.

I never set out or intended to be a "pretty girl" photographer. I wanted to do portraits, particularly environmental portraits, and places with the occasional figure work. I actually started the pretty girl work as way to build relationships and trust with models so I could then do the preferred figure work.

Anyway, to honor my wife's request, and to help myself not be bummed with 3 outof 3 scheduled shoots cancel or no-show in one weekend (which happened last weekend), I opened myself up to other possibilities with photography.

I subscribed to JPG Magazine for the inspiration that day to day photography can bring, and to try to get published again. That has been a big help.

I bought 2 new lenses that absolutely FORCE me to rethink what I'm shooting and how I'm shooting it - a Lens Baby and an f1.8 85mm. Both lenses force me to compose shots more methodically, and offer me new ways of viewing my subjects.

I'll also be taking the Big White Box out for at least 4 more planned events over the next few months, including a wedding! Yes, I have been hired to do a wedding using the BWB! The bride and groom are thinking outside of the box by having their portraits and guest portraits done inside the box.

I actually canceled a shoot. I had arranged for a figure shoot with a very tattooed model - a project I have had a hard time getting off the ground for some reason.The agreement was shoot some figure for my work and some cutesy pin-up/portfolio stuff for her. Three days before the shoot, she said she wasn't comfortable with the figure work, so she would just be doing the pin-up work. I declined. I was happy to shoot what she wanted, but what she wanted wasn't what I wanted. I wanted to work on the tattoo figure work, not cutesy pin-up. The trade wasn't equitable, so I canceled.

On the one hand, I felt bad for making it seem like I only wanted to shoot her naked, but on the other hand, well, I really only wanted to shoot her naked. I ended up feeling more "professional" (as some of my photography friends insist I call myself ).

Here are some pix...

85mm f1.8 lens

Lens Baby

Big White Box (and roller derby!)

In praise of older women

2008-03-13T17:46:33Z

le sigh....

mmmmmmmmm

One of my Hall Of Fame women is 52 today, and still on my List.

Happy birthday, Dana Delaney!!

Grrrrrrrr............

2008-03-12T13:52:07Z

So my wife and I are talking about a vacation. We would like to go to Yellowstone. She's never been there, and I was 16 when I first saw it.

It is an amazingly mysteriously beautiful place. The geysers, mudpots, and mineral springs are scary and wonderful. Going back there with my camera rig in tow this time, combined with my wife's proclivity for art would be a perfect vacation.

So what's stopping us?

After preliminary shopping for a one week vacation, it will cost us close to $1200 just to fly out and back. Then add in another $1200 for an average place to stay, another $30-$50/day for car rental, yet another $60-$100/day for meals, plus park fees - you get the picture. It is too expensive to go.

We can go on a week long cruise for half that, or an all inclusive week long vacation in the Virgin Island for about the same price.

I never begrudge folks making money; however, it really shouldn't cost less to leave the country for vacation.

St. Thomas is looking appealing....

The nest empties...

2008-02-28T13:46:23Z

Last night, my one month away from being 19 year old son told me that he is moving out. He and his girlfriend and one other person have decided to rent a little 2 bedroom 1 bath house.

I told him that he's doing it on his own - that as long as he stays in school we'll take care of his cell phone, his car insurance, and his health insurance, but that's all the assistance I can give him.

The house is, fortunately, close by. He's less than 15 minutes away, and he wants me to help him move this weekend.

Here's how I see it - I haven't seen him display enough maturity to live on his own, but we all have to start somewhere at some time. I've always been the kind of parent who let my son get hurt, but not injured. Touching a hot stove hurts, and teaches you to test the stove first. Grabbing a glowing red broiler element injures.

I can't tell my son what to do anymore. He's on his own for most things now. It is now time for him to suffer the consequences of his choices and actions, and to learn from those consequences.

I told him last night, "I'm not happy with your decision, but there isn't much I can do about it anymore. You will be on your own with this, kiddo, but the front door will be open if you need."

My boy gave me a hug and said, "I was hoping that's what you would say."

Time to say something...

2008-02-22T17:27:49Z

Thanks to honeywine01 for making me decide to put something here. This isn't a personal post, however. It is an essay about .

Over the past few months I have done some traveling for my job - going to some of our hotels and taking pictures for marketing purposes. During those travels, I noticed something - signs for hotels have become very generic. I also began to notice, for the first time, that signs for just about every type of business have become boringly generic.

Now that I have become a bit more involved in the hotel industry than I ever planned on, I recognize the importance of having a sign design that facilitates quick, easy, and inexpensive transition from one brand to another. Because of that most business signs are nothing more than rectangles - with the occasional arch or angle thrown in for some variety. Since the sign outlines ("cans") are uniform, that makes changing the name of the business much easier, but it also makes things boring.

Here's an example for you. Up until around the 70s, you would see this sign all over the US:

No one would ever have accused Holiday Inn with being generic. If you bought a Holiday Inn hotel, by gawd, you would be a Holiday Inn hotel for a lonnnnng time. Replacing that kind of signage is very expensive, but, I would wager, not nearly as expensive as buying it. Again I would wager that Holiday Inn realized that with a less expensive sign design, they could sell more franchises; therefore, that great classic work of neon and timed circutry was replaced with this:

All of a sudden, hotel owners could change brands ("flags") with less cost. The big bright neon was replaced with flourescent or haolgen tubes and a plastic face. But the artistry of those great signs was lost, as was the distinctiveness of the brand. Hotels became interchangeable.

To add to my disappointment, the unique Holiday Inn script, as unique as Coca Cola's

has been replaced with something "modern" and generic -

I pick on Holiday Inn as an example of boring signs because they used to have such a unique look, but the creeping sameness is everywhere - from hotels, to hardware stores, to sandwich shops, to lawyer's offices. If all your brain could decode was shapes, you would see the same rectangles, squares, circles, and ovals everywhere. You wouldn't know the difference between a bowling alley or a sewing maching shop.

The economic reality is that businesses change. The names change. The locations change. When a business changes, part of the cost of that change is signage. It isn't suprising, then, that going for the inexpensive generic shape has replace the roadside art we used to see. Even pawn shops have abandoned the 3 big balls hanging outside their doors for a flat sign with 3 balls painted on it (if they exist at all).

So, to see what made me think about all of this stuff, I present to you some photos from my travels of some of the signs I've seen.

Flickr

2008-02-19T14:54:21Z

This is a test post from , a fancy photo sharing thing.

Still Around... just busy

2008-01-08T19:20:34Z

How've you been? I'm still here, I promise - and soon, I'll post something of substance. Until then, here's something sad:

Merry Christmas - Seasons' Greetings - Happy Holidays

2007-12-18T15:39:30Z

One of my favorite all time TV shows was Northern Exposure, and on that show, in one episode, came the best Christmas story and the most inclusive tidings of comfort and joy I have ever heard. It deserves to be repeated - and repeated - and repeated.

Chris, the local DJ, known for his love of Whitman, is on the radio one Christmas and shares this brief, but beautiful story of Christmas.

It's an old legend, that on Christmas Eve at midnight, all the animals fall on their knees and speak -- praising the new born Jesus.

Back in the winter of '68, my Dad was doing a short term for D and D. Mom was -- I'm not sure where Mom was. Anyway, I was home alone on Christmas Eve and I stayed up late to see if my dog, Buster, would talk. He did -- at least I think he did. I don't remember Buster's exact words, but that's not important. What matters is that a seven-year-old boy experienced his own personal epiphany.

My point? It's that Christmas reveals itself to each of us in a personal way -- be it secular or sacred. Whatever Christmas is -- and it's many things to many people -- we all own a piece of it. Kinda like Santa's bag, inside there's gift for everyone.

My Christmas wish for you tonight -- may your dog talk.

That's the great thing about Christmas. The origins of this holiday season rest firmly in ancient, pre-Christian, pre-Church feelings about the longest darkest day of the year. It is no great secret that virtually all of our Christmas traditions and customs are not rooted in anything Biblical.

The birth of Jesus is but one of the many "reasons for the season." Christmas does not belong to any one group, faith, tradition, or religion. Christmas is one of the more inclusive and malleable holidays to ever exist. We build our own meanings for the holiday, for the season.

Pagan or Christian, Jew or Gentile, atheist or faithful, we are all part of this most wonderful time of the year, and we all bring our own customs and traditions to the table. We should all take a taste of what the other brings.

So, no more preaching about Christmas to you. I simply want to share with you the second best Christmas story I have ever heard, one that puts the holiday into perspective, and I suggest you don't read this at work and that you have a good box of Kleenex handy.

Barrington Bunny
By Martin Bell from the book The Way Of The Wolf
Once upon a time in a large forest there lived a very furry bunny. He had one lop ear, a tiny black nose, and unusually shiny eyes. His name was Barrington.

Barrington was not really a very handsome bunny. He was brown and speckled and his ears didn't stand up right. But he could hop, and he was, as I have said, very furry.

In a way, winter is fun for bunnies. After all, it gives them an opportunity to hop in the snow and then turn around to see where they have hopped. So, in a way, winter was fun for Barrington. But in another way winter made Barrington sad. For, you see, winter marked the time where all of the animal families got together in their cozy homes to celebrate Christmas. He could hop, and he was very furry. But as far as Barrington knew, he was the only bunny in the forest.

When Christmas Eve finally came, Barrington did not feel like going home all by himself. So he decided he would hop for awhile in the clearing at the center of the forest.

Hop. Hop. Hippity-hop. Barrington made tracks in the fresh snow.

Hop. Hop. Hippity-hop. Then he cocked his head and looked back at the wonderful designs he had made.

"Bunnies," he thought to himself, "can hop. And they are very warm, too, because of how furry they are." (But Barrington didn't really know whether or not this was true of all bunnies, since he had never met another bunny.)

When it got too dark to see the tracks he was making, Barrington made up his mind to go home. On his way, however, he passed a large oak tree. High in the branches there was a great deal of excited chattering going on. Barrington looked up. It was a squirrel family! What a marvelous time they seemed to be having.

"Hello, up there," called Barrington.

"Hello, down there," came the reply.

"Having a Christmas party?" asked Barrington.

"Oh, yes!" answered the squirrels. "It's Christmas Eve. Everybody is having a Christmas party!"

"May I come to your party?" said Barrington softly.

"Are you a squirrel?"

"No."

"What are you, then?"

"A bunny."

"A bunny?"

"Yes."

"Well, how can you come to the party if you're a bunny? Bunnies can't climb trees."

"That's true," said Barrington thoughtfully. "But I can hop and I'm very furry and warm."

"We're sorry," called the squirrels. "We don't know anything about hopping and being furry, but we do know that in order to come to our house you have to be able to climb trees."

"Oh, well," said Barrington. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," chattered the squirrels.

And the unfortunate bunny hopped off toward his tiny house.

It was beginning to snow when Barrington reached the river. Near the river bank was a wonderfully constructed house of sticks and mud. Inside there was singing. "It's the beavers," thought Barrington. "Maybe they will let me come to their party." And so he knocked on the door.

"Who's out there?" called a voice.

"Barrington Bunny," he replied.

There was a long pause and then a shiny beaver head broke the water.

"Hello, Barrington," said the beaver.

"May I come to your Christmas party?" asked Barrington.

The beaver thought for awhile and then he said, "I suppose so. Do you know how to swim?"

"No," said Barrington, "but I can hop and I am very furry and warm."

"Sorry," said the beaver. "I don't know anything about hopping and being furry, but I do know that in order to come to our house you have to be able to swim."

"Oh, well," Barrington muttered, his eyes filling with tears. "I suppose that's true-Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," called the beaver. And he disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

Even as furry as he was, Barrington was starting to get cold. And the snow was falling so hard that his tiny, bunny eyes could scarcely see what was ahead of him.

He was almost home, however, when he heard the excited squeaking of field mice beneath the ground.

"It's a party," thought Barrington. And suddenly he blurted out through his tears, "Hello, field mice. This is Barrington Bunny. May I come to your party?" But the wind was howling so loudly and Barrington was sobbing so much that no one heard him, and when there was no response at all, Barrington just sat down in the snow and began to cry with all his might.

"Bunnies," he thought, aren't any good to anyone. What good is it to be furry and to be able to hop if you don't have any family on Christmas Eve?" Barrington cried and cried. When he stopped crying he began to bite on his bunny's foot, but he did not move from where he was sitting in the snow.

Suddenly, Barrington was aware he was not alone. He looked up and strained his shiny eyes to see who was there. To his surprise he saw a great silver wolf. The wolf was large and strong and his eyes flashed fire. He was the most beautiful animal Barrington had ever seen.

For a long time the silver wolf didn't say anything at all. He just stood there and looked at Barrington with those terrible eyes. Then slowly and deliberately the wolf spoke. "Barrington," he asked in a gentle voice, "why are you sitting in the snow?"

"Because it's Christmas Eve," said Barrington, "and I don't have any family, and bunnies aren't any good to anyone."

"Bunnies are, too, good," said the wolf. "Bunnies can hop and they are very warm."

"What good is that?" Barrington sniffed.

"It is very good indeed," the wolf went on, "because it is a gift that bunnies are given, a free gift with no strings attached. And every gift that is given to anyone is given for a reason. Someday you will see why it is good to hop and to be warm and furry."

"But it's Christmas," moaned Barrington, "and I'm all alone. I don't have any family at all."

"Of course you do," replied the great silver wolf. "All of the animals in the forest are your family," and then the wolf disappeared. He simply wasn't there. Barrington had only blinked his eyes, and when he looked-the wolf was gone.

"All of the animals in the forest are my family," thought Barrington. "It's good to be a bunny. Bunnies can hop. That's a gift." And then he said it again. "A gift. A free gift."

On in the night Barrington worked. First he found the best stick he could. (And that was difficult because of the snow.) Then hop. Hop. Hippity-hop. To beaver's house. He left the stick just outside the door. With a note on it that read: "Here is a good stick for your house. It is a gift. A free gift. No strings attached. Signed, a member of your family."

"It is a good thing that I can hop, he thought, "because the snow is very deep." Then Barrington dug and dug. Soon he had gathered together enough dead leaves and grass to make the squirrels' nest warmer. Hop. Hop. Hippity-hop. He laid the grass and leaves just under the large oak tree and attached this message: "A gift. A free gift. From a member of your family."

It was late when Barrington finally started home. And what made things worse was that he knew a blizzard was beginning.

Hop. Hop. Hippity-hop. Soon poor Barrington was lost. The wind howled furiously, and it was very, very cold. "It certainly is cold," he said out loud. "It's a good thing I'm so furry. But if I don't find my way home pretty soon I might freeze!"

Squeak. Squeak. . . .and then he saw it-a baby field mouse lost in the snow. And the little mouse was crying.

"Hello, little mouse," Barrington called. "Don't cry. I'll be right there." Hippity-hop, and Barrington was beside the tiny mouse.

"I'm lost," sobbed the little fellow. "I'll never find my way home, and I know I'm going to freeze."

"You won't freeze," said Barrington. "I'm a bunny and bunnies are very furry and warm. You stay right where you are and I'll cover you up." Barrington lay on top of the little mouse and hugged him tight. The tiny fellow felt himself surrounded by warm fur. He cried for awhile but soon, snug and warm, he fell asleep.

Barrington had only two thoughts that long, cold night. First he thought, "It's good to be a bunny. Bunnies are very furry and warm." And then, when he felt the heart of the tiny mouse beating regularly, he thought, "All the animals in the forest are my family."

Next morning, the field mice found their little boy, asleep in the snow, warm and snug beneath the furry carcass of a dead bunny. Their relief and excitement was so great that they didn't even think to question where the bunny had come from, and as for the beavers and the squirrels, they still wonder which member of their family left the little gift for them that Christmas Eve.

After the field mice had left, Barrington's frozen body simply lay in the snow. There was no sound except that of the howling wind. And no one anywhere in the forest noticed the great silver wolf who came to stand beside that brown, lop-eared carcass.

But the wolf did come.

And he stood there.

Without moving or saying a word.

All Christmas Day.

Until it was night.

And then he disappeared into the forest.

My son...

2007-12-14T18:18:49Z

My son has mono.

If you have ever had it, will you please tell me how long it took you to recover. He's concerned that he'll lose his job if he's out too long, and that he'll be contagious and/or too sick to be part of the family Christmas celebrations.

Thanks.

Okay... a post....

2007-12-12T19:11:48Z

Let's see - ummm - not much happening.

okay - I guess that does it then.... I know, I'm boring, but waddayagunna do?

Christmas Eve Dinner

2007-12-03T16:55:17Z

So my darling lovely wife and I have Christmas Eve to ourselves. I have promised to cook her an epic and glorious meal - one she will tell our grand-children about - one that will set the standard for dining out from now on.

So I need some ideas.

I'm a capable kitchen technician. I have the right gear for a good meal (missing only an electric mixer, so no complex pastries, please). My personal style is homey, grilled, comfort food.

I KNOW some of my LJ friends are foodies, so help me with some menu ideas.

Because I need to laugh and wake up....

2007-11-27T15:04:50Z

I'm sleepy - like, falling-asleep-at-my-desk-while-working sleepy. That's what I get for staying up late playing with photo-processing software! I'm a geek.

Oh! Congratulations, sepiashadow!

Whoever invented L0Lcats wins the internet.

That's all for now :)

The continuing saga of the wussification of America....

2007-11-19T14:44:51Z

You can now buy the DVD of the first seasons of Sesame Street. Packaged as "Sesame Street: Old School", the DVDs actually have a PARENTAL WARNING!!! Seriously.

Here's the warning, "These early 'Sesame Street' episodes are intended for grown-ups, and may not suit the needs of today's preschool child."

Yes, such horrid content as a monster that eats cookies and sometimes GASP smokes a pipe! (in case you've been out of it, Cookie Monster no longer just eats cookies. See, cookies are now a "sometimes food"); a mean, crotchety, unlikeable green creature with no friends who lives in a trash can. According to Carol-Lynn Parente, the executive producer of "Sesame Street", "We might not be able to create a character like Oscar now." WTF??

Just... just... damn

Please - this is a joke, right???

2007-11-01T20:54:04Z

I know there are wackos in the world. I kind of like knowing they're out there. But this just baffles me.

Today is a good day to die -- or to be born....

2007-11-01T14:50:33Z

One of my regular models moved to Seattle a few years ago to be with her boyfriend. That didn't work out, and she ended up meeting, falling in love with, and eventually marrying another young man. Shortly after their marriage, he was shipped off to Iraq. He came home a bit less than a year ago for a break between duty assignments, but has been back in Iraq for the past 8 months.

Angie called me about 6 weeks ago to tell me that Ron would be coming home in early November to be here for the birth of the baby, and she wanted to get some photos done of their new little family. Ron is in Iraq, beginning the tedious journey back to North Georgia in time to see his wife and the birth of their child. On November 17, Angie, Ron, and the baby are coming to my home/studio for a photo shoot. Ron ships back out to Iraq for at least another 12 month assignment on November 19th.

This shoot with them will be the most important shoot I've done. This is more than a family portrait. Angie and Ron haven't had any photos of the two of the done other than snapshots. Now they have a new little one to care for - and Ron will be somewhere else for at least another year. There will be tears shed before that shoot is over.

Yesterday, on Halloween, Angie gave birth to their first child - two weeks early. Ron was sitting on airplane in Baghdad to begin his journey home when his son was born.

My brother-in-law, another Ron interestingly enough, is my age. His best friend for the past 35 year was diagnosed with lung cancer 18 months ago. Chris doesn't smoke or work around carcinogens. He just "got it" - however one catches lung cancer.

Chris has 3 cool kids, a 15 year old boy, and 12 and 8 year old girls, and a rather cute wife. We hung out for a few days over the summer at Ron's lake house in Alabama. Chemo and radiation treatments really hammered Chris. He was bald and bloated, a far cry from the healthy and active guy my brother-in-law tail-gated with as little as 2 years ago.

Last night, Halloween, Chris died. He was 43 years old.

Voices In the Ether

2007-10-25T13:03:21Z

You may or may not know this, but way back in 1981 - at the oh-so tender age of 17 - I got my first job as a radio broadcaster at a tiny, and now defunct, radio station in Augusta, GA called WKZK ("Crazy KZK", "Sweet 1600 On Your AM Dial"). I got the gig because I did a weekly High School Happenings Report where I called in to the afternoon DJ and did two minutes of Richmond Academy High School news.

The afternoon DJ, Steve York, and I would banter for a minute or so then I would do my thing. Steve would go to commercial or song, and he and I would talk on the phone for another few minutes - joking or him answering questions from me about broadcasting. After one broadcast, Steve told me, "Hey, why don't you come by the station tomorrow after class. Hans [the station owner] would like to meet you." The next day, after meeting Steve face to face for the first time, getting a tour of the station (a double-wide trailer with a utility shed in the back that housed the transmitter), and talking to Hans Peterson, I was offered a job as a weekend DJ.

That began an on-again off-again series of jobs in radio, commercial production, PR, and voice work.

Steve York and I stayed in touch over the years. He had moved on to become the late night DJ at Augusta's biggest station, and I would go hang out with him in the control room answering phone calls and getting stoned with him in the Muzak closet. I eventually moved away and lost touch with him.

When I moved back to Augusta and got back into radio, Steve was gone. He had moved to another city - such is the tramp nature of radio. As "Fast Eddie King" at WMTZ 94 Gold radio, I adapted Steve's long time tag of "The Mayor of Martinez" (an Augusta, GA suburb) and tagged my radio name with "The Monarch Of Martinez". I got a call from Steve one morning during my morning drive show. He was in town visiting friends and called the station to find out who it was who was using a version of his tag.

We met for lunch that day. That was 17 years ago, and the last time I saw or talked to Steve York.

For some reason, I decided to do a Google on him this morning. Steve York, one of the people who altered the course of my life, who put me on a path that has, at the worst, given me great stories to tell, and, at the best, paved the way for me to take jobs that have allowed me to be creative, died in June of this year at just 52 after a long battle with cancer.

Somewhere in the universe, a radio receiver is picking up the jovial baritone voice of Steve York, the mayor of Martinez. I'm glad to know his voice - his humor - is still out there, even though we lost it here.