Nice guys: “Why do we have to start conversations? Why don’t girls start ’em?”
We don’t have to; guys with spines are already talking to us.
— Shannon
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Things that strike me about Geneva every time I visit:
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
So I was recently in a photo show, at the Washington School of Photography. (I’m not a student, but it was an open call for entries). The theme of the show was “faces”… specifically human faces. I only had 1 day’s notice to select photos and mail them in, but 2 out of my 4 submissions were chosen for the show.
I’d been waiting until after the show opened to display the chosen images. One is old, and one is new to most people.
So what did I think of the show? Eh. I was kind of hoping… or expecting, that since it was hosted by a photo school, and in a city with so many photographers, that I was going to be lucky to get into a show and have my work surrounded by pieces much better than mine. That people would have wonderful concepts, or capture special moments, or show amazing skill. But I didn’t really see much of that. At least half the shots were travel photos, captured in the moment, and not with any great eye. Then there were some generic portraits. The only one I would have called ‘conceptual’ didn’t even have a face in it, implied or otherwise. And listening to the judge speak, it sounded like she made her selections on the way out the door to lunch.
I liked being in the show. I have heard good things about their other shows. So maybe it was just an unfortunate series of events.
I don’t think the photos have sold. If you’re interested in either, they’re both professionally framed.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Crystal on the Fourth of July, 2010
Before I started, I didn’t really understand the social aspects of public drinking.
I’d been to plenty of bars and clubs, and ordered plenty of sodas for myself or drinks for friends. But that was the extent of it. In my mind, the bar was a dispensary and the bartenders no different than cashiers, albeit with a specialized knowledge. And actually, you can easily get by like that. You may not get the most prompt service, but any respectable bartender is still going to take your money and be polite.
Now I realize that bars are social beasts. You’re generally going out to either drink and enjoy yourself or drink and forget your sorrows. In either case, you want a welcoming, friendly atmosphere. If you go somewhere with any regularity, develop a relationship with the bartender, because they will start to remember you, one way or the other.
A friendly relationship with the bartender means service. A friendly relationship can mean that not all of my drinks will end up on my bar tab. A friendly relationship can make unrequested drinks show up in front of me unexpectedly. (I almost wonder about the financial mechanics of this. Bars must have some basic policies… how do they come about?)
That person on the other side of the bar not only probably knows exactly what’s available without even looking, but they likely know more mixed drinks than I’ll ever try in my entire life. (Though I’ll damn well work on that…). It has been a universal truth for me that any time I let a bartender recommend a drink, it is better than anything I would have specifically ordered. And most bartenders seem to enjoy serving something besides vodka-cranberries. And the friendlier the relationship, the more they seem to put into mixing something special.
Practicalities aside, how much more enjoyable is it to laugh and catch up with someone, (or get to know someone), rather than to sit silently staring into a glass. I’d much rather feel like I was socializing than just being a ‘customer’. The bartender is a person too, and deserves as good a day as anyone. Like any other social interaction, everything goes both ways
And while the alcohol undoubtedly loosens things up, I notice a huge difference in the amount of socializing done with other patrons. The kinds of bars and clubs I prefer are not for the reclusive. It’s a social activity in a public place. I can be extremely anti-social when the bad mood strikes, and yet I usually end up talking to someone new on most every visit.
Yeah… this is all probably blindingly obvious. But it stands out, to me. A little world I didn’t know about until I fell down the rabbit hole.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
I think we can safely assume that Gawd does not want me to exercise.
We can start with the last time I tried to start eating healthy, and wound up in a hospital on a restricted diet, for ‘unrelated reasons’.
For a couple weeks, I’ve been considering getting back into exercising. Last week I confirmed that I could use the gym in my building. Over the weekend, too much was happening to ever get down there. I was finally ready last night, when I had my little adventure on my way home. I had neither the time nor ambition afterwards to exercise.
Today, I change my clothes. I put on my sneakers. I walk out the door. Then, I realize I forgot my iPod. (I get bored ridiculously easily). I was not 15 feet down the hall, so I turn around and put the key in the door, and nothing happens. Huh? I try again. And again. It’s simply not working. Key goes in, but nothing happens. I check to make sure I’m at the right apartment, even though I’ve been coming to this door for over 12 years. It’s just not working. The front desk worker gives me the spare keys, but they don’t work either.
Gawd does not want me to exercise.
I did get in, eventually. I did go exercise. I am walking funny. You’re telling me I only have to keep doing this for another 60 years?
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
(felt that last post needed a suitably ridiculous chaser. FSM bless heather.)
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Occasionally it feels really good to have money to throw at a problem.
Coming home on the subway, 3 car-hopping poster-children-for-abortion threatened to set me on fire with a lighter. They followed me off the train and out of the gates. Reported it to the booth worker, who called in the amazingly-slow-arriving Metro Police. Filed a report.
By this time it’s dark outside, and 6 blocks to my apartment. And I had watched them all leave through that exit. I was thinking “if they had half a brain, they would have taken off when they saw me talking to the booth worker.” but then I think “if they had half a brain, they wouldn’t be doing this in the first place”. Poo.
So I took the shortest taxi ride in recent history. Home. 50% tip.
I hate this city right now.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Okay. I admit it. I’m done with puberty. My growth spurt is probably over. I think my voice has finished changing. So at the possibly-old-but-still-immature age of 35, I went out with a friend for the sole purpose of buying some more adult clothes.* Blue jeans and black t-shirts will only get you so far in life.
The friend was a necessity. I have the fashion sense of… well… a 35 year old redneck. I shop better with other people to slow me down too. Too often I just skim without ever stopping. Having someone question my assumptions worked out pretty well too. (Large? Extra Large?) And the things I didn’t even know you could do in some of these stores. (I’d never heard of putting stuff on hold while you shop).
I’m pretty sure I ended up buying something in every store I’ve ever reviled or made fun of. Benetton, Banana Republic, American Eagle, Nordstroms etc. Certainly shopped in all the rest too… Abercrombie and Fitch, and company.
Some observations:
Banana Republic — mostly — has their shit down. Beautiful clothes, but I’ve always known that, even if I didn’t shop there. Refined but relaxed presentation. And the bag… the thing.. the piece of art they handed me at the register. The shirt I bought was folded exactly so, placed in the perfectly sized bag, in a way that the whole thing looked better than the clothes even looked on me.
Benetton was pretty impressive too. I think they took the award for their staff. People honestly being knowledgeable and helpful without feeling like their main objective was to collect a paycheck.
It does appear though, that straight men do not work at Malls. At least not in the clothing stores. Maybe at the cigar shop? Or maybe they just can’t bring themselves to work in a building called the “Fashion Center”?
Nothing will make you realize how scruffy you look, like going shopping for new clothes. Two days unshaven. Baggy jeans. Worn t-shirt. Yeahhhhh…
*Okay… so I also got to watch the previously mentioned friend looking hawt, while she shopped. But that wasn’t a purpose… just a benefit. And she really made the whole thing ridiculously fun, anyway.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!