white bread and bbq sauce

Somehow I've ended up with quite a number of friends who are really great photographers. One of those friends is a guy named Bob Miller. Besides being an outstanding photographer, he's also an incredible dude and one of those guys that everyone wants to be around. He's super laid back, has a great sense of humor and a really cool haircut. I'm drawn to Bob because he's passionate and I love being around passionate people.

Bob is involved with a magazine called Engage, a publication put out by the students at Samford University. It's a great magazine and one day Bob asked me if I would help him out with one of his shoots. I obliged. He explained his idea for the shoot and it basically went something like this:

Bob: I want you to wear a black suit, with a white shirt and a black tie. You're going to be holding a black umbrella that has holes in it and is all torn up and we're going to pour water on the umbrella so that it looks like it's raining. Can you do that?

Me: No problem

It sounded innocent enough. I would get a little wet and have to dry clean my suit, but I had no problem doing it for Bob. Plus, photo shoots are always fun.

So, I show up the next Saturday at Bob's house. We hung out for a few minutes while waiting for his assistants to show up and started talking about the details of the shoot. About ten seconds into the discussion I realize that Bob wants to do this venture, not inside like I had pictured, but outside. Normally, not a big deal. But, it was like 42 degrees outside. Fahrenheit. That's decently cold in and of itself. Especially for March. But, it's really cold to be standing outside soaking wet. I started rethinking the whole ordeal, but I had already committed and didn't want to ruin the fate of the magazine or Bob's entire career. That's a little extreme, but I wasn't backing down.

Turns out, not only was it cold, not only were they going to pour water all over me, but we were doing it in a shaded alleyway, completely devoid of any sun. In addition to that, the alley formed a vortex of intensity for the wind that was blowing at about 90 miles per hour. It was cold wind, too. Nonetheless, I was doing it. Two girls with water in cups above me and Bob with camera in front of me, the insanity began.

At first, it wasn't too bad. The layers of suit and shirt and under shirt shielded my skin from the water. We did a couple rounds of shots, took a break to stand in the sun, then got back at it. After about the third round, things changed. The water began soaking into the core of me and my body temperature began falling like a brick off of a high rise building. I was getting cold. The umbrella holding hand was starting to hurt and I could feel my shoulders beginning a slight shiver. It was intense. Round five came and I was done. My body was shaking, my teeth were chattering and I could feel pneumonia or some other disgusting sickness creeping down the alley towards me.

Fortunately, I was able to change clothes quickly and get in the sun where I found great solace in its warm rays. I stuck my hands up to the heater in the car for about five minutes while they literally thawed out and I began to move them again with out feeling like I had one million needles piercing their blue facade.

Eventually, my body returned to a comfortable temperature and I was able to think again. All in all it turned out to be a lot of fun, Bob got the shot that he needed for the magazine, and I was glad for the opportunity to help him out. Here's the final product...







For more of Bob's work, check out his website at http://www.everythingisinbalance.com/. It's amazing.

coke in a glass bottle

I have found that some people just like to talk.  I'm not necessarily sure that they care if anyone is listening to them, they just like to have words coming out of their mouth.  I meet a lot of people like this. 

I also meet a lot of people that talk a lot in effort to be heard.  Their words come out like mud thrown at a wall, just hoping that some will stick, hoping that someone will hear even just a little of what they say.  

I tend to have a fond affection for the latter, the first try my patience.   

ticker

I just discovered the video version of the Onion News. I'm glad I did.

gasping for air

Delicious went home today. After a week on the dining room table he finally made the trek back to where he came from. It still amazes me that a living thing can reside in something that small. It was actually kind of depressing and I'm glad he's gone. He looked trapped. I hate feeling trapped.

standing still at concerts

Recently Jeremiah introduced me to one of the funniest things I've seen in a very long while... Stuff White People Like. It's a blog devoted to stuff that white people like. I don't know who wrote it, or how it got started, but it's really well written and highlights some hilarious stereotypes for white people of my generation. My favorites include #90 Dinner Parties, #41 Indie Music, and #1 Coffee, but I think they're all pretty funny. You can find the full list of Stuff White People Like at the tab at the top of the page. Check it out. So far, over 16,000,000 people have.

http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.wordpress.com/

razorblade

The world is changing. We all know that. It's changing a lot faster than it used to and a lot more often. Change is so prevalent in our world today that no one can really get a hold of it. Technology is a revolving door of upgrades and better and obsolete. Things are getting smaller. Things are getting bigger. Opinions change. Worldviews change. People change. Industries change. Analysts talk about it, old people are frustrated with it and the adapters prosper from it. It's inevitable.

Tonight I witnessed a change in the world of music. In its composition, its performance, its identity. One of my best friends on the planet, Caleb Chancey, co-founded a musicians collaborative known as Grey Haven. It's a fascinating concept. Though I probably don't understand its fullest implications, it basically works something like this. There's a bunch of musicians. Some of them are in bands, some of them are solo artists. Either way, they're good at what they do. Grey Haven provides an outlet for these artists to collaborate their music in a variety of different ways. They write songs together, play music together, share ideas on their blog and experiment with new musical endeavors. Watching them was so interesting. Throughout the night musicians rotated on and off stage depending on who was leading and what accompaniment they needed for that piece.

If this isn't evidence of the changing music industry, then nothing is. It used to be that concerts were only played by those who wanted to score a record deal. Being a musician meant making a career out of playing and the career came from recording and selling albums. Certainly, there were those shows played by the local enthusiast who only lived for the nights he played at the coffee shop. But overall, a fundamental shift has taken place. Everything changed with the advent of digital. It's single-handedly revolutionized the industry. Record stores are closing and everyone's shopping on iTunes. That's fairly obvious. But, what digital has also done is make recording a whole lot easier and a whole lot cheaper. In other words anyone with a computer and a decent mic car record something that sounds halfway decent.

So, now that anyone can record themselves without the necessity of a record deal in order to have the money to record, the market is flooded with artists. Granted, the quality may not be the same, but the principle remains. Digital also makes Grey Haven an easier task to accomplish. The musicians don't even have to be together to make their music work. One of them can record something, post it on the blog for everyone to hear and individually they can learn their part or modify the song or whatever they please. Ideas are bounced back and forth with great speed and more minds are capable of creating the best possible song because everyone has access to the music. Not only that, but the entire show was recorded live tonight and at the end of the show they offered to download it for free to people's iPods from Caleb's Mac.

It's such a great concept and I love the idea that people who are passionate about music are making music because they are passionate about music. Not because they're trying to be famous. Not because they want their little band to be better than everyone else's. They are coming together just to make great music. And it was really great music. I have to say I was particularly impressed by Caleb's first song. He's a singer and a really good one. He had Matthew Mayfield and Jon Black playing guitar and some other guys I didn't know playing various other instruments. It was by far the best song of the night. I don't remember the name of it, but wow. I can't wait to hear more from them and watch how they progress.

fruits

I want a Macbook Air.

...that haven't evolved yet

Recently there's been some controversy regarding the pastor of Barack Obama's church. Unbelievable...



There's a word that comes to mind... I just can't think of what it is... ah, yes... racist.



An appearance by Jeremiah Wright on Hannity and Colmes.

shun the nonbeliever

Recently I received some pictures that reminded of an event that took place a couple of months ago. It started with a trip to the Dollar General with my friend Jonathan. Christmas was right around the corner and he needed to find a Dirty Santa gift for a party he was going to. As we walked the aisles of this illustrious store looking for the perfect gift, I came across an item that I could not pass up. There before me in a little purple box was a purple unicorn head accompanied by matching hoofs. When I picked it up to view my find, I saw the "press me" sticker displayed on its nose. To my surprise and delight, when pressed, the unicorn made a series of noises including a magic noise and a noise similar to that of a neighing horse. It was essential that I purchase such a ridiculous piece of hilarity. I decided to give it to a house of girls that I'm friends with... Hope, Susan, Rebecca, and Heather. They found it quite humorous and the following are a couple pictures of Hope and I displaying the absuridity.

Pepperidge Farms

I'm fishsitting this week. I've never been entrusted with such a big responsibility, but I think I'm up for the task. I don't actually know whose fish it is, in that I've never met her before. Johanna just asked me if I would keep the fish while Megan, the owner, was away on Spring Break and I gladly obliged because how hard can fishsitting be? As I have come to find out, not very.

His name is Delicious. Well, I say "his" but how is one to really know? I haven't checked his junk, but I'm pretty sure if I did, he would be a he. Regardless, I picked him up yesterday thinking that I would carry his small bowl in a box on the floorboard or something like that. However, Delicious does not reside in a small fish bowl the likes of which I had imagined. He lives in a tall cylindrical jar-looking home that was most obviously not initially intended as a fish bowl, but instead for middle aged women to put decorative things in and place proudly on an end table. Delicious doesn't seemed to mind it, but it did make transporting him home very interesting.

Upon looking at his little casa, it would appear that you could just put him in the passenger seat and hold him with one hand while driving with the other. Not the safest method possible, but it would have worked for the few miles I had to drive. However, when you don't drive an automatic, you don't have that luxury. After thinking through several other options, I finally decided to just hold him between my legs while I drove. It was awkward, but we made it. A couple times water sloshed out of the top and the rocks shifted a few times, but Delicious seemed to enjoy the adventure.

I kind of feel bad for him. I mean, he just sits in that thing all day and all night. Nowhere to go, no one to talk to. I think the reason that you hear so many stories about goldfish dying has less to do with the life expectancy of goldfish and more to do with the fact that most of them commit suicide. It's a lonely existence and they feel there's nowhere to turn. I mean, whose idea was it to start putting fish in bowls? I'm thinking about letting him free in the ocean where he belongs. Or, maybe a lake.

I'm not sure exactly what he's doing right now. He keeps eating the bubbles on the side of the bowl and sticking his mouth out of the water. It makes this strange little noise. If nothing else, he's kind of interesting to watch. He sits here while I write and swims around looking like he knows where he's going. I hope he's having a good time. We talked about going to see Horton Hears A Who tonight. We'll see what happens.

Canadian California

Sum 41 - Pieces

Sunday afternoon programming

Here's something that's incredible. The Brunswick bowling alley on 280 now shows the speed of your ball after you bowl it. Last night I went bowling with Ryan and some of his friends and about halfway through the first game he informed me of this outstanding feature. I was bowling pretty well before I found that out. My form was decent and I was making an effort to knock down a predominant number of the pins each time. But, when he told me that it was possible to find out how fast you could throw a bowling ball, the entire game changed. Knocking down pins became secondary to my primary objective which was launching my pink ball of death as hard as I possibly could without losing control of it. I had a lot more fun discovering which method allowed me to obtain the highest speed. I tried a lot of things and ended up with a speed of about 23 mph. It sounds disappointing when you compare it to a baseball or something, but the thing weighed eight pounds, not eight ounces. The only problem with this method of bowling is that you apparently use different muscles than in ordinary bowling. Not that that would mean much to me anyway given that I haven't bowled in years. But, somehow I pulled a butt muscle. Yeah, I don't know. Somewhere in the midst of the fury of speed bowling I started feeling a little twinge and had to stop. I don't know what you do about that. Are there butt muscle doctors? If so, that's weird. If not, I guess I'll just have to keep taking Aleve and place myself on the speed bowling DL until it heals. Any and all ideas are welcomed.

http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2008/03/08/national/main3919498.shtml?source=mostpop_story

meatball sundae

If you happen to still be in college and care even a little bit about business or marketing, this is the internship you should apply for. If I were in college I absolutely would.

http://www.squidoo.com/summerintern08

The life and trials of a young African American woman

I have a light purple dress shirt that I sometimes wear to work. Some people would refer to it as lavender, some as violet. Sam in my office has a shirt the same color and he calls it steel gray. Fair enough. I just call it light purple and I like wearing it. Occasionally, I wear said shirt with a pair of navy blue pants. It's an ensemble that works its way through the routine of dress clothes that I wear to work and today was the light purple shirt and navy blue pants day. They've been working together for well over 6 months now and they look pretty good as a team. However, today when I looked down at my shirt I realized that I looked like a bleeding blueberry. I'm probably not going to wear this combo again.

white box

the longer i live the more i am convinced that the things worth having are the things worth fighting for, the things worth waiting patiently for.

what machine

I think there's a big difference between anger and rage. Anger is a pretty common emotion that we all feel and it covers a variety of feelings from little frustrations to huge meltdowns. It's a part of how we deal with difficulty and often shapes our communication, whether for the good or the bad. Rage is an alter ego. It's far more intense than any form of anger and exists deep down inside each of us, rarely being pulled out and used. I've been angry a lot of times in my life, many times at things I should never have been angry about. But, I can only remember feeling rage one time and I was reminded of that time today.

If you've kept up with the news either locally or nationally, you've probably heard the story of Lauren Burk. When I read the story, my heart sank. It's one of those things that no matter how many times you hear people talking about it, you just can't believe something like this would happen. What kind of a miserable POS of a human being does something like that? Even though I'm on the outisde of the situation and don't even know who she was, as I've continued to think about it, it has continued to make me angry. Then I began thinking about her dad and her brother and her boyfriend if she had one. I imagined myself in their shoes and thought about the rage that they must be experiencing. The injustice seems overwhelming and I can't even begin to think what that would be like. How do you respond and what do you do with the intensity of that emotion?

The only time I can ever remember feeling rage was a couple of years ago when I was in South America. My girlfriend at the time, Alison, was doing some volunteer work in Peru during the summer and having never been to Peru, I decided to visit. It's such a beautiful country and one afternoon we were in a city park in the Sacred Valley enjoying the outstanding weather and watching the vendors peddle their wares. While sitting on a bench, a boy of about 16 or 17 began walking toward us. He was completely intoxicated, most likely the result of sniffing glue which is the drug of choice for many kids because it's cheap and easy to access. His pants were wet from where he had obviously urinated on himself and it appeared that he hadn't bathed in a month, if ever in his lifetime. The stench he produced grew stronger the closer he got and he continued to walk in our direction.

His decreased distance from us was unsettling and I could feel Alison tense up next to me. For some reason he decided to approach us. I have no idea what he wanted. His speech was so slurred and indecipherable that even if I had spoken Spanish it wouldn't have made any sense. When we couldn't understand what he wanted, he began to get frustrated and he reduced his distance from about four feet to about one foot. This was not acceptable. As much as I hate to sound like a prim and proper, always clean American, I had no idea what kind of contamination and disease his filth could bring with him.

I began to tell him no in a stern voice and used my foot to push him away. After a couple of times of lightly pushing him, it became obvious that he had no intentions of leaving and his attention became directed at Alison. I began forcefully using my foot against his thigh to convey that he was not invited to stick around, just hoping that he would walk away avoiding a major scene. But, his poor decisions continued. Completely enamored with Alison, he reached his filthy hand out toward her. I heard her say my name and just as he touched her hand something snapped inside my brain. Faster than I've ever moved before, I stood up, put my hands into his chest and pushed him away from her with everything I had.


After flying a distance of 10 to 12 feet in the air he landed with his back on the ground. Given his inebriated state, he was unable to brace his neck and the back of his head slammed onto the concrete. The family on the park bench next to us quickly gathered their things and fled the scene. People all around the park stood confused at what had happened, unsure of whether to help the boy or to help us. He was in obvious pain and the hit he took to his head could not have been healthy. We immediately found a cab and made our way back to Cuzco, the entire trip spent in silence as we both pondered the events that had occurred.

I have never felt anything as intense as I did in that moment and it was a frightening experience. It scared me to death that I was capable of hurting someone without even thinking about it. It was like I had made a completely unconscious choice to act, the result of which sent a dude flying with a force that could and may have cracked his skull. My heart couldn't help but be broken for him. He was high and likely homeless, the victim of a culture that could care less about him. But while I felt bad for him and the obvious pain I had caused him, I had given him several opportunities to change his course and he chose not to. He made the mistake of threatening Alison, of making her feel unsafe and I did what I had to to remedy that problem.

As I think of the recent violence that has taken place against an innocent girl in Auburn, I am convinced that whoever committed this heinous crime against Lauren Burk should only spend the rest of his time outside of bars praying that he is found by the cops. Because I can only imagine the fury that would be unleashed on him should he be found by someone like her father. Life is full of unfair tragedies and I don't know that justice for an event like this can truly be served on this earth, but I hope that very soon some progress is made in that direction.

You've got to be kidding me

Rejection is a tough pill to swallow. I don't know many people that like to be told no. It's not a fun experience. But, being told no can be a really good thing for us. Unless you just give up, it strengthens your resilience and desire to do what it takes to get a yes, although sometimes we don't get that opportunity. I remember when I was a senior at Samford I decided to try out for the role of emcee at Step Sing. Step Sing is a huge production that the students put on every year and involves singing, dancing and depending on the group performing, some interesting artistic visuals. Basically, the emcee is the host of the evening and fills the gap between each act. There are usually a couple thousand or so people that come to these shows and I thought it would be a great opportunity to practice some public speaking as well as try my hand at something entertaining.

However, the Step Sing Committee did not see things the same way. A week or so after my audition I got a letter in the mail that basically said, sorry, we chose somebody else. I was really disappointed. Despite the fact that in my mind I was made for the role, they gave it to this other guy who had an annoying made for radio voice. I hung the letter on the wall in my room where I had to walk by it every day. It was a constant reminder to keep trying. It kept screaming, "You're not good enough!" and I kept screaming "Screw you!" This never actually happened. I didn't yell at a piece of paper on my wall, but internally we had great battles.

Yesterday I got another one of those letters. About 9 or 10 months ago I applied for membership in the Rotaract Club. It's a group of young professionals focused on community service that meets monthly for lunch and periodically for service projects. It seemed like a great idea. I would get to network with other folks my age as well as serve other people. After attending their little lunches a few times and months and months of following up on my application, I got a letter that said they had declined my application. It stated some really ridiculous reasons for their denial, none of which I took seriously and overall I think they handled the entire application process very poorly, but it was still kind of disappointing.

It was good to be reminded that not everyone is going to be on board with what you want to do. Regardless, you just have to keep doing it, making the necessary adjustments along the way.

To live or not to live with Morgan Freeman

So, tonight while I was running through my neighborhood I was almost abducted. Ok, that's not true. I wasn't even close to being abducted, but I felt like the the potential existed for a second. I was running down one street and needed to cross over another street. Just before I got to the intersection, I was passed by a van. No big deal. I was running in the suburbs, there's a lot of vans that passed me. But, this one stopped. Then it reversed. The van was then coming towards me as I was running and slowed as I began to run by it. I have no idea what was happening inside the van, but inside my brain fight or flight was kicking in and I was trying to sum up my competition. It was fight. Regardless of who it was or how many there were, for some reason I decided that should they indeed be up to something the likes of which I wasn't on the same page with, I would just fight them. Fortunately, the van was just backing up because they had missed their turn and were going back to take the correct road toward their destination.

Here's the thing. If you are driving an automobile past someone who is out enjoying God's creation and the beautiful weather by taking a leisurely jog and you happen to miss your turn, right where said runner is running, just keep going. It will cost you like 30 seconds to go up the street and turn around, but it will always keep said runner from devising a plan to jack your jaw and completely lose his train of thought from whatever he was thinking about at the time. Plus, next time I'll be running with my nunchucks.

The incident reminded me of this clip of Brad Pitt. For some reason, I think it's hillarious.