daines'n around

Horseshoes is a competitive game. Don't aggravate your opponent, as they just may clobber you over the head with one of those steel arcs.

Do me a favor. Listen to this song today and tell me what it means to you.

I forgot how salty tears were.
The music isn't helping either.
I can still feel...
There's something positive for the evening.
and the smiles beforehand.

I'm no good at this thing anymore.
Who am I kidding? I never was.

I'm heavy and light at the same time.
I'm here.

at least I'm alone.

Can you say that your characteristic traits are often molded by your decisions, and even more important, your decisions? Sure you could say that. But then you could also say you believe in destiny, true love, and all that other nonsense that romantic literature and media has made so overwhelming.

Am I the same person I would be without my mistakes, no. Could I have learned the same lesson without making the mistake, yes. But not likely this fast. I happy for insight enough to recognize my mistakes.

I bought new glasses Friday. Glasses are expensive without insurance. I doubt I'll do that again any time soon. It is so nice to be able to edit photos without wondering if it was my scratched glasses or the photo out of focus. I think they look pretty dandy on me.

I saw a shooting star tonight
but didn't dare make a wish
I left it for someone else
who could have also seen
the falling, burning debris
of a planet that once was
and I smile and I hope
may their desires come to be
As fast as the streak ran across the sky
and reflected off of my eye.

Due to last weeks interesting turn of events, this week is turning out much different than I had ever imagined. Not in some sort of life-changing way, or throw-everything-in-your-closet-away type of epiphanies. No, the simple matter of fact is: I cleaned.

My room is now the haven I once remembered it being. I rearranged a few things: my clothes dresser, my guitar amplifier (roughly half the size of my dresser), and a few other things. Three large kitchen garbage bags later and things are finally almost entirely put away.

The main reason for the reorganization is that I pulled my guitars out of the closet. Yes! For the first time in two years I pulled out my long estranged friends and carefully snipped every old stretched metal string. I passed by guitar center and purchased new strings for my acoustic and electric guitars.

I polished off all the dust and lovingly cleaned the crevices. They looked so inviting to play now.

I got together with another friend and played guitar together for more than 3 hours. My fingertips are sensitive, but it isn't stopping me from playing. I'm thinking of saving up a little bit of cash and buying one of those digital recorders that plugs into the computer so I can mix some stuff in and perhaps publish a few songs of my own creations. Of course, that may remain a pipe-dream for a while but it still is a very entertaining idea.

So as I walk around my apartment on these strangely humid days, strumming my guitar, and occasionally ripping off the George Harrison line from the White album, "Ive got blisters on me fingers" I remember how much I love music. More importantly, I remember how much I loved to create music.

My bike isn't too jealous. Yet.

I didn't take asingle photo this weekend. I saw a few that I wanted to take, but time and energy were lacking. I went to San Francisco for Dani's birthday. We celebrated in true fashion with rushed pizza, sitting amidst many potheads at the Dave Matthes/Black Eyed Peas/Jem concert at SBC park, and her getting away without us even so much as singing happy birthday to her.

Tomorrow I have a meeting for the newspaper staff, which makes me realize just how close school is to starting, which scares me. I've enjoed being somewhat social this summer. Things look a little bleak for free time.

I will have a chance to bring along a little camera to Newport tomorrow after my meeting. That'll be fun.

I had the opportunity to attend a bit of Freshman orientation on Wednesday. It was like looking back in time at myself those many years ago. Who knew how much I would change and grow between my summer before college and now?

CSUN has changed since I attended my orientation. The buildings that have come up over the last 5 years impress me each time I walk through their halls.

I didn't join a fraternity when I began at CSUN, and I still don't see the allure for fraternities and sororities.

Interviewing people on the phone is really not the most effective way to gather information. They can run away too easily.

Come back here! I only wanted your opinion!

I rarely find time to read books that have been given to me in the past. Unless someone provides me with a gleaming review, or some inspirational reason as to why the prose of a certain novelist would change my life in some way... The book generally sits on my shelf until I have time.

I had time today. I picked up The Fountainhead from my shelf. I remember a good friend gave me the book and told me that I should write like that one day. I opened it up, saw the 700 some pages of verbose literature and really thought, I'd never write this longwinded... Even if I tried to.

Fast forward to a time when nothing I'm reading is keeping my interest before school starts and I sat and lovingly flipped through the first 60 pages in this monstrous novel. What has impressed me thus far is character development. I mean, read this:

He held her close, anxiously, afraid that her weightless little body would vanish. He did not know why her presence made him confess things unconfessed in his own mind. He did not know why the victory he came here to share had faded. But it did not matter. He had a peculiar sense of freedom-- her presence always lifted him from a pressure he could not define-- he was alone-- he was himself. All that mattered to him now was the feeling of her coarse cotton blouse against his wrist.

Nothing life changing, granted, but the plot continues, and you cannot help but identify with at least one of the many carefully developing characters Ayn Rand depicts. Now I can only hope that my time allows me to complete this novel.

Thursday I had the wonderful opportunity to see the White Stripes (with guest performer M. Ward opening the show). Not only did I get to see the band but I was able to watch it at the Greek theatre, nestled in the hills of Griffith Park, and with great company.

I was able to take a few pictures with my old credit-card sized camera in between M. Ward's lackadaisical set and the White Stripes. The highlight of M. Ward had to be the cover of David Bowie's "Let's Dance" played in a mellow acoustic-folk temperament that rivaled the like of Harry Belafonte combined with a smidgeon of the slowest Bob Dylan song ever. Ward's recordings were far superior to his live performance at the Greek.

Shortly after these pictures, I was asked to take my camera to the office and have it returned to me later after the concert. I had no choice but to concede, sadly.

I wasn't sure what to expect for the White Stripes in concert, brought to us by the lovely Los Angeles commercial-media-hyped 'rock' radio station.

Jack White's energy was almost boundless, and it was abundantly clear that he led, and his sister Meg followed that lead from behind the drum kit.

Kudos to the White Stripes for putting on a seemingly non-stop and entertainingly high energy show. They conquered the skeptical fans around me, and recaptured an audience that may have waned in enthusiasm after their latest record. After hearing the songs performed live, it really changes your perception of the music, and gives you key mental reminders of why you love the White Stripes dearly.

the song is on repeat
playing
and replaying
putting to memory every nuance.
it continues in your sleep

the song is in your heart
singing
and boldy boasting
putting emotion to every glance,
it plays to an empty hall.

the words on your lips
buzzing
and sticking together
like a bad imitation of yourself,
they stay closed.

the idea on your sleeve
tugging
nagging like a child
mommy's busy right now,
you can't tell.

the happiness over your shoulder
satisfying
the familiar place to sleep
it sneaks up to remind,
importance is deemed by participants

The train station night manager stopped me and began speaking to me as if he had known me for a few years. He spoke the way many South Americans do, after two sentences, we were best friends. He spoke to the girl standing next to me, scolding her for smoking.

He inhaled the swirling smoke that hovered above our heads and inhaled softly.

"What kind of smoke is that? Is not normal..."

"No, they are vanilla cigarettes."

"Oh, I have not smoked in many many years because it gives you cancer, but can I try one of those?"

I laughed. It takes a beautiful 19-year-old girl and some vanilla-laced nicotine to get any old man to start smoking again. She extended her hand with the cigarette and dug through her expensive label purse for her lighter.

He struggled with the lighter, saying that he had only ever used matches, that those matches were failsafe and always worked. He lit the cigarette but took the lighter away quickly and only lit two-thirds of the tip. He sucked air deeply into his lungs, leaving a small unburned portion of the cigarette.

"This is like eating a delicious sweet!" He raved about the taste of the cigarette.

He spoke quickly in his broken English with no desire to be corrected of his grammatical errors. He apologize every 15 minutes and offered to leave, but his quick sentences and strong opinions made the two hours between trains seem like a matter of minutes.

"I have a game" he announced to the two of us. "I am god."

He paused just long enough for me to make eye contact with the girl sitting just a seat away from me. We communicated telepathically to one another, somehow saying 'oh my where is this going?'

"I am god, yes? Ok. I am god." he stepped back and forth between his right and left feet, puffing and sucking the cigarette to show us precisely how well he thought that vanilla odor tasted.

"Now, I am god and I grant you one wish. Anything in the world, but only one wish. This is my game."

He turned to the girl and stood uncomfortably close.

"You my dear. What do you wish for... anything you want I give you 'cause I am god."

I chuckled in my head. It sounded like he was saying I yam god, and some strange illusion of yams running around in circles wafted in and out of my creative consciousness.

"Happiness." She said simply and easily. I was amazed by her response. I thought for sure she would have gone for money, or property or some other physical display of prosperity.

"Very nice, god makes you happy." He paused and finished the cigarette. "You there, I am god what do you wish for. One thing only!"

I thought.

"Just eliminate hunger in the world."

"The world thanks you! You must be a smart man."

"The world should thank god, I just got a chance to talk to him first."

He scratched his head.

I've embraced the joys of reading for fun again, and just in time for school to start too. I'm enthralled by Rand's The Fountainhead at this point. I only came to my computer to type out a few ideas, and thought I'd jot down some thoughts about photographing the sporting event on Saturday.

It is incredibly hot in southern California, which I would take over a hurricane any other day. I saw the news this afternoon, of hundreds of thousands of people fleeing their homes and was thankful that there is none of this anticipation for earthquakes, brush-fires, riots, and flooding. I guess California is a spontaneous place; and I like it that way.

The sun's rays are almost unbearable. The UV index is ten everyday; great for tanners, horrible for people who just want to walk around. Equally as horrible is the fact that Cal State Northridge has no air conditioning in their 'Matadome' (home of the matadors.) I was on assignment Saturday to photograph the Women's Volleyball tournament versus UNLV.

I was actually grateful at one point that my camera has a nice rubberized grip built into the body, because it was easily 100 degrees up in the rafters of the stadium.

Photographing volleyball had to be one of the most challenging assignments that I have had yet. I've become accustomed to getting as close as possible to my subject and using wide angles to involve the viewer in the situation. You can only get so close in sports.

My editor told me to go up high, so I resisted my desire to get close to the players, and heeded his advice. He seemed to have experience photographing volleyball games. I climbed over a few locked gates and no one seemed to pay me mind at all.

The Daily News photographer was on the other end of the rafters with his $10,000 and up equipment all given to him by his newspaper, and me with my lens I saved all summer for. Oh, I guess I never mentioned that. I'm a camera geek I guess. I got a Canon 70-200 F/4.0L and a 17-40mm F/4L and I'm very pleased with both. The focus is MUCH faster than any other lens I've owned previously. I don't think I could use a slower auto focus lens again.

After sweating through the hours of tournament play, hundreds of mediocre photos, and a lot of try and fail experiments; I've learned a bit more about how I want to photograph sporting events, and how I will do them in the future.

Angles are very important. I've also realized that I dislike taking vertical photos, which I need to remedy quickly. Sometimes they are necessary.

StaticAntics has some larger versions of shots that I didn't submit to the paper.

My volleyball photo was on the sports page in the paper yesterday, as well as online publication.

Not the first time i've been published, but fun none the less.

Update:

UAW article is online.
Photo of book prices is online.

These links are mostly for my own future reference,