It's us.

Oh how the times change.

I find the first one much more visually interesting. Photoshop, Neat Image, and wonderbras have perversed the human form. But that's just one scrubby tom boy's opinion.

Pears

More Glamer Shotz.

Here you see my patented and copyrighted pose, "Stone Cold Stupid." This could be your next personals advertisement picture. Call today to schedule studio time!!

Glamer Shotz by the MLE

So here is my new market. I need to get some bright red lipstick though.

My ad: YOU ARE A PART OF THE UNIVERSE, AS MUCH AS THE TREES! You are beautiful, and if you had any doubts, come to my studio and I will glamerfy you for seventy five bucks. This may or may not include full glittering. And we all know that in today's society glitter pretty much IS beauty.

I had dinner with this really neat couple last night, she's an artist and he's a computer nerd. It was very refreshing. Mostly people suck, they're so afraid to take responsibility for who they are. Jesus man, life doesn't have to be so hard. These two were real, actually and honestly. Was pretty damn cool. I was sad I had to cut it short for a photo shoot, but my subject last night was this Icelandish guy who would NOT smile for anything, unless you started cracking Zoolander jokes. And then, the light was green. I will probably post some out takes.

I dunno.

So, I'm tired of taking headshots of women who are incredibly self-conscious. My last client was self-conscious to such a degree that it took me about twenty minutes of throw away shots to get her just to relax in front of the camera. Ryan wasn't even anywhere in earshot, it was just her and me. I want to be like, "look man, whatever guy you want to look good for has ugly genitals. Your pinky toe contains more beauty than that guy's genitals. Think about that."

Would that be wrong?

I kid, of course. But she had on pink editor pants and pink fluffy sweaters and high cheekbones and great skin and she just kept saying, "ugh, can you edit these?!?!?" Dude, jesus. You're beautiful. C'mon. It's just a picture. This is what you look like. What does it matter....

Maybe I'm jaded. It's so easy when you're behind the camera and not in front of it.

One more.

This one should be titled, "Look at that freaking gun."

I would not want to scrap with Anne. She has an arm made of tough leather. Chit mang.

Our headshot client was 15 minutes late. We thought we were getting stood up. We grew bored, and restless.

Anne and Pat's wedding portrait. Well, one of 'em.

This was my meter check. I'm scared...

Boorarum

These are two of my favorite portraits that I did of Terry's son last weekend. I have a bunch of headshot gigs coming up this week, and a large family portrait and a doggie photo shoot coming up next month! It's pretty flippin' exciting to be making money doing something I enjoy so much.

*ahem*

PROBATION!!!!!

Great googamooga. I will bless life.

Like This

The house is on fire. There are five days left to live like this, and we'll soak it up like madmen in the desert, desperate for the first thing that looks liquid. The house is on fire and we fan the flames, work the bellows, this will keep burning, this will keep burning. Our cloaks are soaked with the blood from the days that we used to carry daggers underneath; clytemnestras angry at the world, angry at not being loved, at a thousand and one things that have withered and died. Those days are over now. We keep rolling, it all keeps rolling. Nothing to fear and nothing to hide. She used to say, "we're all just skeletons on the inside!" and that skeletons like, most of all, to dance. We will dance these five days until our feet are worn down to stumps and the house is totally engulfed.

Bonfire outside

Barn Party Pictures

Here they are, the pictures from the party I mentioned. Not as exciting as I had hoped, but eh! fun nonetheless.

Mixing Board

One of my Drug Mart buddies

Mike's Secret Barn Last Saturday

I had never been to an invitation only party before. Kinda silly. Many of Oberlin's blow-holes were present, but the food was amazingly amazing and the band was pretty cool. I got some pretty cool shots, but I had to be tricky because we weren't allowed to use flash. I had to hide a lot and wait for people to be still. Was a good challenge.

That's Michael filling his cakehole, I've never seen such a skinny man scarf down so many french fries. Little Patrick was giving us a tour of the grounds when, from behind us, Michael's nemisis appeared. It was crazy, seriously... Michael is super tall (probably 6'5") and thin as a rail. We were turning a corner when the nemisis appeared. Same height. Same railish likeness. Cigarette in one hand, beer in the other. Glasses. Sort of goofy overall look. They just stared at each other for a moment, and they BOTH broke into the same signature goofy ass laugh at the same time. Ye gods! One Michael is more than enough.

I will post some of the pics later.

Spiritual Vomit

Hard to remember who I was when I started this. Hard to remember the despair of last summer. Trying to remember it, to tap back into that strength. The flexible tree lives. The solid oak sees change and dies, hard as it is to admit that. He's at the Nord Center tonight, under supervision, treatment for the panic attacks that bring seizure, for the inability to express rage, for the thinking that these two weeks are the end of everything.

Pissed that the vultures would root out my dad's good name. Pissed that AF would send me to the verge of collapse. That I lost my job because I did it well. That Anne lost her job because she cared about the clients more than she cared about her sanity. He has no place to put all of that rage. Pissed that Portage County still doesn't have his address fixed. Pissed that $187 and so many phone calls later he's sorted out the warrant but who knows if it will ever be fixed? A thousand dollar trip to Georgia eight years ago didn't sort out that one. The system be damned, the human race is mad and we're all on the verge of collapse. Isn't it true? I need a hug and compassion and Rugby follows me out onto the roof to smoke, to stand sentinel. We're losing the race, says I.

And I remember last winter sitting in Mom and Dad's den, telling them that I could walk away if I wanted to, that I wouldn't get attached, and here I am, and I'm attached. I'm sorry that I'm weak. I'm sorry that I feel this, that this has developed, that maybe I'm the only one on the planet who has faith in him. This purpose I have now, those headshots, the photos that show you how I see the world -- they wouldn't exist without his encouragement, without his faith in me. When I couldn't live there anymore and the world was alien, when I had to start over again, he showed me that there is infinite possibility. And now it's my turn. And I feel like I don't have any allies. The thought of what could be rails against the idea of what will most likely come to fruition, and it absolutely saps my spirit. He's a fuck up on the surface, an alcoholic former drug addict with a reputation that begs not to be trusted. I've no idea how to convey the look in his eye when he gives someone a finished piece of art. I've no idea how to elucidate the faith I have that he's not the same man that he was then. Just know that I wouldn't say it if it wasn't so. Maybe I'm naive and idealistic, but I have to believe that I only open my life to those who are worth it. But isn't that the nature of faith? That on the surface it's illogical? We all live with regret and mistakes and sin and ugliness that we've rendered, and God willing, we've been given another chance. And another and another and I pray that it all works out for the best, and I pray that if it doesn't, that the poem I read so many times growing up is real. And in my spirit I know that even now it is. When you were too weak to walk, that's when I carried you. My family. In every incarnation. The something greater, however you choose to define that.

Rugby is chewing his sock and I'm trying to imagine this night alone multiplied exponentially, for all of eternity. Of course, life goes on, because the flexible tree bends. Time has proven that I'm that flexible, that the knowing will always outweight the not knowing. I will be a different woman, but I will go on. Not a shell. Just... a lobo. I weep and pray for the person you were then, the idiot so lost that he'd make those fool choices. I weep and pray for the deputy that laughed at you, for the warden who saw you lying in your vomit and was unmoved, for the woman who would give my mom the cold shoulder for a letter, the man who would think my dad illogical for making his real thoughts and feelings known. Take it away, take it away. We never had it anyway, we're far too idealistic. Life will go on and we will adapt. We will die and be reborn a thousand times before it's over. Each tear is a testament. This is the way that I knew it could be, and of course it can't last. Can it? Parting is all we know of heaven, and all we need of hell.

First Paying Job

I had my first paying headshot customer today, and despite the day being incredibly turbulent under the surface, I think the shoot went well. These are my two favorites. I hope she likes 'em! The people I've shot so far have been really beautiful, I guess I'm lucky! I was insanely nervous, but apparently I played it off well. I know she was nervous, too -- she locked her keys in her car. Hehe. We were both cracking jokes by the end of it. And now I can pay my utilities this month :D

The most difficult thing about doing portraits is that you have to be aware of so many things all at the same time. Do they have fly-away hairs? What pose should they be in? Are they relaxed? Is the pose natural? Are they bored? Anxious? Thirsty? It's slightly nerve wracking. I had sigur ros on and was using my trademark brand of idiotic humor. I think it helped. Now, everybody in Oberlin, call me up for a shoot. Yeah!