Shamrock Inn

Another sweltering summer

I wish I was the lady in this photo. Submerged in a cool watering hole. But for now I am simply submerged in my own sweat.
Working in a tin shed in the midst of the summer is unbearable. Even though I wear very little to work.

Summer is not my favorite season. For several reasons:

1. I sweat profusely...mainly from my armpits.
2. I am unable to cover my mainly biceps unless I want to pit out every shirt that I own.
3. I have an ever increasing colony of freckles.
4. Heat makes me listless and mopey.
5. I look bad with a tan.

I should just move to the great north and make nice with some arctic foxes. Or Eskimos.
(Eskimo means eater of raw meat)

Oh, Nick and I procured a homestead. We will be moving in on July, 1st. It has three bedrooms and a basement. I think, after a year of living in one room together with our three cats, that we will become afraid of all the space and move all of our belongings into the living room.
Okay I do not really think that.

Music.

http://www.myspace.com/jessebraman

I know how much Haley will love this; The Bastard French is now in the process of fashioning an album. There will be new songs up all week.

I'm excited because no one ( well no musician-type) has appreciated my creepy lyrics and simplistic guitar abilities. The first Mr. Yellow meeting was a terrible failure, Kendra and Rae ran off to the kitchen after five minutes and cooked ramen noodles... I tried to jam with Jake, but he got bored with my suckage and replaced me.
So I gave up on collaboration and made up my simple songs. Eventually I got slightly more proficient at the guitar (I could keep a beat) and my vocal talents improved. (slightly)
Then something amazing happened,
(did anyone else just get a Wild Thornberries flashback?)
I found an enthusiastic band member!

So here we are, and 2010 is the big music year. First the album, then tours, then T-shirts....
I better try not to get ahead of myself.

cages

"I'd rather be lonely. I'd rather be free..."

Right now there is $11,000 sitting in bank accounts that belong to me. It's college money and wedding money.
But how much interest do I have in college or marriage?
I'm sitting in my stupid lingerie outfit with a headache the size of a small impoverished nation, wondering how things worked out this way.
I remember the day I was proposed to, the horror of it. The only thing that kept me from bolting headlong from the car and sprinting down the darkened streets was him. But even that doesn't seem like enough anymore.
And the words, the pledge I made on the dock with shaking legs...
"Sure. I guess."
With vomit churning in my guts, with my throat closing, with my heart hammering frantic in my chest.
It all inspires me to terror. Wedding invitations, dresses, deadlines. I discuss them with the people involved, again longing to escape the room.
"Congratulations" Mozel-fucking toff.
People tell me I have cold feet.
My whole body is numb.
My heart is cold.
What can I do?
Do I walk down an aisle, sign some papers and carry-on?
Do I run away again? To find myself alone and unhappy?
Why is Jenny Lewis singing the same line to me over and over again?
"I'd rather be lonely, I'd rather be free..."

Yes Alec, it's another photo blog.

China Toy

This little toy camera is quite interesting. The Holga shoots 120 mm film, a larger format than the typical 35mm, yet it is constructed from plastic.

The reason I want one (desperately) is the unpredictable and surreal quality of the images it produces. Shooting with a Holga is a risk, the control over the settings that we get with digital cameras isn't there.
But the results?
Oh unexpected, lovely, creepy, flawed, beautiful.

It seems like photographers today are obsessed with the mechanics of photography and not the idea of photography. I am not obsessed with quality. I am obsessed with ideas, with feeling and emotion. I thrive on telling a story with a photo.

So, the Holga is on my wish list.
And if we ever move out of the shed, I'll make a darkroom.

Springtime yet again