It’s been one of the more unusual Mondays I’ve had recently. I think most associate the day with dread and disdain and sadly wish for the return of the weekend. I feel no different yet I’m unsure as to why, but nevertheless, I was feeling a bit more apathetic than usual this Monday morning sometime after receiving a phone call that forced me into being more awake and alert than I intended. I’ll apologize to him later if I seemed uncaring about his recent business ventures. (more…)
March 19, 2012
finding escape in my own yard
March 20, 2011
my unrequited love affair
I’m a night person. I feel I’m at my creative stride when the sun goes down and especially when the moon is full. And yes, I’m one of those poets who has written about the moonlight, under the moonlight, while writing by direct moonlight. Yes, a true romantic indeed. It’s almost a requirement to be a romantic, isn’t it? To be into full moons and such?
Anyway, tonight there was a supermoon. Until last night, I had never heard of such a thing or known it ever existed. Hey, I’m not a lunar expert, I just love the way it looks. I initially passed the thought of a supermoon off as “eh, big deal.” But then I found myself with a clear night and an opportunity to try out my camera once again. I know I need some telescoping lenses to really get a good lunar shot, but I’m happy with what my new camera was able to provide.
However, where I live is surrounded by trees. I also have a sensor light on the garage. Why is that important? To get a good clear night picture, a tripod is required. There’s no leaning on a wall for this. Especially if you are pointing a camera upwards.
I had to practically be a ninja to scale the side of the house, sneak across the far end of the yard, then creep into the blind spot in the garage to get to my car where my tripod is located (I bring it everywhere I go because you never know when you’ll need one). The trip there and to my shooting location was a success. I set up by the side of my house, behind a tree, and just out of range of the sensor light and snapped about 50 photos until I started getting results that I liked. Most of it was trial and error, but that’s what most photographers do, right? I don’t know, I’m still learning. But I had a good time, if not a bit nippy, snapping away and listening to Duffy, whom I recently purchased mere hours ago.
Honestly, it was getting rather romantic, which sucks being single. I’m sure girls enjoy doing stuff like this too. But that pseudo romance didn’t last long because I smelled a skunk, which I have declared to be my mortal enemy for reasons explain in a future post. I didn’t take any chances and what would’ve possibly been an hour shoot stopped at 15 minutes when I practically fell inside my house running away from a smell. No, I didn’t see the skunk, but I know a warning when I smell one. Nevertheless, I’m happy with the photos I did get.
I junked about half of them, and I’m only showing half that I feel are worth showing at all. A few came out better than I expected and while pictures should be able to explain themselves, there are a few I’d be happy to tell you about if you’d like to know.
June 10, 2009
showdown: man vs. bird
Last week I started a little controversial debate about animals in the wild having emotional feelings. Surely my argument didn’t have a scientific leg to stand on, but so what, call it fictional creative writing expression. I was just masking some grievances I had been feeling that day and was inspired by watching some squirrels and birds doing their squirrelly and birdie things. So I took it out on nature. Plus, my imagination was triggered by a caffeine surge.
Apparently, the neighborhood wildlife has computers and protested what I had to say. Or maybe they can pick up on Wi-Fi signals and managed to read this very blog. At least the birds knew about it. Not only that, but they were aware of an incident that happened with my sister last week and an unfortunate bird.
I never thought it was possible, but apparently if a bird can get hit by an airplane, what’s to stop the same thing from happening to someone’s car? My sister, driving to work one morning, managed to strike a bird! Due to the graphic nature of the incident, I’m choosing not to post the picture of what’s left of the bird. That’s right… what’s left. What was left was a wing, as far as I could tell. The bird got lodged into the grill of the vehicle, so a stick was needed to remove it. It wasn’t a pretty picture, and it made for a humorous story in a weird morbid way (depends how strongly you feel about animals).
Anyway, between that incident and my remarks about emotionless critters, the birds might have it out for me. I park in an area where I haven’t been attacked “fecally” due to the lack of trees. My usual space has been something short of target practice that only car wash owners appreciate. But just recently, they dropped a bomb, maybe as a warning to me? An ultimatum? Revenge? Or maybe just to say “We’re watching you.”
But if they weren’t saying it then, they definitely said it yesterday. Every so often I like to open the door to my office (the front door to my house) and just look out at the neighborhood. Sometimes I get the mail, which is a short walk from the door to the curb, or go to my car which is about just as short of a distance. But this particular time was just for observational purposes.
Standing there in the middle of this triangle of my car, the mailbox and the front door, was a robin. A robin that had seemed to have his chest poked out at me, and looking me square in the face. (I don’t know the gender of this bird, but he seemed masculine, so I’ll say it was a dude-robin.) I saw his little beady eyes. Or at least I think I did, they have small eyes. But I know he saw me. He didn’t move. Standing there as if to say, “Yeah buddy, I’m lookin’ at you. I know what you said. And I know what you did.”
At this very same time, I’m looking at this bird thinking, “Is this bird sizing me up? Is he trying to give me the third degree?” More than likely, he was. Whether or not it was working is another question.
You know how birds have this twitching way about them when they turn there heads or look at something? This robin wasn’t doing that. Actually, I was the one doing it. Not in the timid bird fashion, more like a confused dog. I stepped out a bit further. The beady bird eyes followed my step. Then he took a step. Again, most birds I notice have a hop of some kind. This one lifted one tiny foot, placed it in front of the other, and then brought the other foot to meet the other. I heard the blade of grass flap as he made his stance.
Is this bird challenging me? Are we playing chess? I hoped not… I hoped it was checkers. Chess is a game I still haven’t really learned yet. And I didn’t know what piece I or he was playing. But I’m technically on his territory, or I would be if I stepped off the porch, which I’m sure is what he was waiting for. Just to show me that animals, or at least birds, do have feelings and the bird community’s feelings had been hurt. Not just because of what I said, but also because of actions of my relatives. They decided to send a hitbird to let me know how they felt about it. Was this bird sent to actually carry out a hit or a warning is anyone’s guess. Maybe to send a message to humanity, or maybe have an example made out of me?
I have respect for the animal kingdom and all, but I’m not about to get showed out by some random robin. Not in my own yard. So to the bird, in facial expression and posture, I told him I was ready. “Bring it.” We stared at each other for what felt like a good 15 minutes. It was already past noon and I’m sure the cowboys out in the old West would’ve already drawn, fired, and killed each other by now and just waiting for the sunset to go riding off into. I highly doubt a lawman or outlaw ever had to open fire on a feathered being. Well, maybe for food…
But I’m nobody’s punk. It was either me or this bird. The only reason why I ran in the house so quickly when he started flying towards me was because my phone was ringing and I was waiting for an important call.
August 24, 2008
progress and pizza
As they say in Hollywood, cut to the chase! I’ve never been there, but apparently its a catchphrase that has spread to modern use to tell whoever is telling a story, to get to the action-packed chase scene. Thus, my interpretation. And have I cut to the chase yet? Absolutely not!
How would one write a chase scene anyway? I have a feeling it’s almost like writing directions from point A to point B, except you break as many laws as possible in the process of the trip. That isn’t always true since I managed to get myself in a chase scene one morning. Good times. Well, not at the time. Had an amusing conversation with a grocery store clerk moments later while I was trying to take cover. Okay, it wasn’t really funny ha-ha… just awkward, perhaps. I felt endangered, paranoid while still clever and mildly witty, and she didn’t want to be awake nor did she care of my peril. She just wanted me to buy my Cinnamon Toast Crunch and leave. And I did. And it was delicious… whenever I ate it.
None of that has anything to do with the Sam Cooke project. I’ve written technically 25 pages. My creativeness is done. Now I must type out the lyrical portion of the historic yet unknown/underrated concert. Like Arrested Development, my feelings are you either love it, or don’t know about it. My mission is to alert the world and spread the word of Sam’s greatness. We’ve heard about Ray, we’ll get a taste of Marvin, we just lost Isaac and we recently honored Al. When is Sam going to get his? Huh? HUH?!
Allow me to calm down. Still taking my anger out on those trees over the weekend. I hope that saga is over as of tonight. I’m so tired of outside. The last tree my dad cut down I had to help move across the 1000 acre woods which is my yard, to the side of the street. Fortunately we found a little red wagon. Wheels make the world so much better. Let that be the invention of the era.
I finally started using my little Moleskin notebook. And once again, my dad proves where I get my personality from. A co-worker asked him: “Why are you so mean?” Dad: “Why do you ask dumb questions?” Yep, that’d be something I’d say too.
Oh yeah! I went shopping today. Not that it’s that exciting, but I bought a pair of jeans that I swear were placed in the wrong department. The tag says “Mens”… but they make my legs look like a woman. And not in a good way. They also feel like low-rise. Which are super-sexy on women. But me? No. In any event, I do shop like a guy, and I made good time considering I went into a busy store, in the middle of the day on a Saturday at the end of tax-free week. Picked out 3 shirts and 3 pants. Well, 2 pants… one is going back because I think they were built for women. Or men skinnier than me. Like Snoop Dogg.
I’m rambling… yet again. The pizza reference in the title? I have a couple slices in front of me that I regret taking big bites of. I need to roll over and probably keep rolling. And probably in the direction of the gym. It’s hard being friends with both the gym and the pizza place. They missed me though. The pizza place that is.
Mmmm. Cheese.
