Number of times I've seen/photographed "The Secret Garden" in the past three weeks? 16
Number of times the scene where Colin gets out of his wheelchair and walks again has made me cry? 16
Number of performances/dress rehearsals left: 4
Number of times I expect to weep behind my camera body: 4
It's not that just that the children are so earnest and committed, although they are, which tends to make me well up anyway, or that they're all that age where some of them still have mild speech impediments that fade with maturity, although lots of them do.
"The gawden is a secwet, Dicken." "Might I have a bit of earff?" Just twy, Colin! I know you can do it!" It's not even that the smell of grey hair dye in a aerosol makes me feel about 9, even as I sprout actual grey hairs with every new production.
The real reason that the scene always makes me cry is because it plays out a modified version of every wish I've made over every birthday cake since I was five. Fuck off, muscular dystrophy.
ADDED TO SAY: I've discovered an antidote to the tears- if the young actor does a painful, painful Cockney accent. Evaporates 'em every time.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
When can I relax? NEVER.
One of my High School Friends-Turned-Client-Brides (seriously, you guys should start a softball team or make t-shirts or something) asked me recently when "summer" for wedding photographers is, because it's certainly not during the actual summer. The truth is, I don't know, because I spend whatever down time (or you know, down-ish time) I have panicking.
This week has been Editing Week, where I've basically sat down, glued to my laptop, and knocked out all the editing for two out of my four remaining weddings that are due by the middle of next month. Joel came home sick from school on Tuesday and I spent all night taking care of him. Then I spent Wednesday alternately shivering and sweating and having whacked out fever dreams in which I have to take a boat to find a baby, that may or may not be mine, studying abroad in Japan, which is located in downtown Manhattan where I have to go shopping for red shoes in a glitzy McDonald's.
So while I'm glad I have some time to edit and be sick and be home without having to call an editor at 7:30 a.m. or turn down freelance assignments so I can flit between subsconsciousness and wellness, I worry. I worry because I had four promising consultations in the past two weeks, BUT! Of the four- One bride simply disappeared after seemingly loving everything I do. Poof! Bye! I guess!
The second prospective client and I had a great meeting but decided to go in a different direction today, though I suspect that was the groom's call.
The third couple would be a cool challenge but I'm not sure how sad I'll be if I don't get it. They're basically having two separate weddings over a three-day holiday less than six months away and still hasn't found someone she and her fiance like. While I would would really love the challenge of this one (and the money would be nice), I'm less sure that they love my visual style and that's never a recipe for success
The fourth one- oh puh-lease let them book because I'm starting to feel like no one likes my work or me and I'll never book a wedding ever again and soon I'm going to start speaking whale like Dori in Finding Nemo: COME BAAAAAHHHCK!.
*pant pant pant*
I know. That's nuts, but this whole making a living of my art thing? It's intensely personal. And when people don't book and I don't know why? It feels like something might be wrong with me. Also, a friend of mine got a job at A Big Metropolitan Newspaper of Impressiveness and she's not even 30 but she's not a photographer so it's not like we were even remotely competitive on my career path and I'm happy for her but OH I AM SO JEALOUS too jealous to use punctuation sigh
So that's what I'm doing this week. How you doin'?
Also, if you know anyone who needs a wedding photographer, I'm free the last three weekends in October. Woo, prime weekends! Someone book me so I can stop compulsively counting my lips. ONE TWO ONE TWO ONE ONE- OH DAMN.
This week has been Editing Week, where I've basically sat down, glued to my laptop, and knocked out all the editing for two out of my four remaining weddings that are due by the middle of next month. Joel came home sick from school on Tuesday and I spent all night taking care of him. Then I spent Wednesday alternately shivering and sweating and having whacked out fever dreams in which I have to take a boat to find a baby, that may or may not be mine, studying abroad in Japan, which is located in downtown Manhattan where I have to go shopping for red shoes in a glitzy McDonald's.
So while I'm glad I have some time to edit and be sick and be home without having to call an editor at 7:30 a.m. or turn down freelance assignments so I can flit between subsconsciousness and wellness, I worry. I worry because I had four promising consultations in the past two weeks, BUT! Of the four- One bride simply disappeared after seemingly loving everything I do. Poof! Bye! I guess!
The second prospective client and I had a great meeting but decided to go in a different direction today, though I suspect that was the groom's call.
The third couple would be a cool challenge but I'm not sure how sad I'll be if I don't get it. They're basically having two separate weddings over a three-day holiday less than six months away and still hasn't found someone she and her fiance like. While I would would really love the challenge of this one (and the money would be nice), I'm less sure that they love my visual style and that's never a recipe for success
The fourth one- oh puh-lease let them book because I'm starting to feel like no one likes my work or me and I'll never book a wedding ever again and soon I'm going to start speaking whale like Dori in Finding Nemo: COME BAAAAAHHHCK!.
*pant pant pant*
I know. That's nuts, but this whole making a living of my art thing? It's intensely personal. And when people don't book and I don't know why? It feels like something might be wrong with me. Also, a friend of mine got a job at A Big Metropolitan Newspaper of Impressiveness and she's not even 30 but she's not a photographer so it's not like we were even remotely competitive on my career path and I'm happy for her but OH I AM SO JEALOUS too jealous to use punctuation sigh
So that's what I'm doing this week. How you doin'?
Also, if you know anyone who needs a wedding photographer, I'm free the last three weekends in October. Woo, prime weekends! Someone book me so I can stop compulsively counting my lips. ONE TWO ONE TWO ONE ONE- OH DAMN.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Procrastinating on My Tax Preparation
Okay, this is too funny not to share, even though I am totally supposed to be figuring out how I owe the government for the privilege of having been self-employed this past year. Gulp!
This is a pro gay marriage song by the awesome comedy music duo Garfunkel and Oates, mocking Pat Robertson for his statements worrying that people protected by hate crime legislation would seek legalized same-sex marriage which would then lead to the legalization of people having sex with ducks.
This is a pro gay marriage song by the awesome comedy music duo Garfunkel and Oates, mocking Pat Robertson for his statements worrying that people protected by hate crime legislation would seek legalized same-sex marriage which would then lead to the legalization of people having sex with ducks.
Monday, March 07, 2011
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
Good Times Never Seemed So Good
Hi. How are you? I am fine.
You are everywhere today. It started at my breakfast meeting. One of the people in my networking group just lost a loved one, and everyone is signing up to bring their family dinner. It got a little keystone cops with everyone trying to reinvent the wheel when in fact a dinner-bringing schedule was already set up. I made a suggestion that no one else thought of because- well, I'm not sure, but I don't think they can see thestrels, most of 'em- and I joked about wearing a scarlet B for Bereaved.
Then I went to the pool. Chlorine usually makes me think of you anyway, so when the 85-year-old lifeguard (If I bonk my head underwater, do you think that guy would be able to drag me to safety? really?) asked me who I was punching so hard with my floatie underwater hand weights, I just smiled and said, "Aw, never kid a kidder!" because answering honestly- "Uh, lung tumors? And/or muscular dystrophy, you know, whichevs" would have made me seem a little craaazy. Hmmm.
I'm shooting championship games all day, so there's a lot of Black-Eyed Peas and R.E.M. and oh hell- lots of your favorite songs, all around. Right now "Sweet Caroline" is blasting so loudly that the reverberation from the speaker is literally pounding the floor in the media platform. Of course, they play it at EVERY game. Since this is a six-day tournament and all, this happens to be the fifth time this week and the third time today I've heard this song.
I'm going to choose to believe that the chorus- you know, the part that makes people do that cheesy pointing thing at wedding receptions- is you answering my question about how you are. The speakers are literally thumping the words "SO GOOD! SO GOOD! SO GOOD!" right into my feet. Glad to hear it.
As always, I miss you. And it sucks that you're dead.
Love,
Me
You are everywhere today. It started at my breakfast meeting. One of the people in my networking group just lost a loved one, and everyone is signing up to bring their family dinner. It got a little keystone cops with everyone trying to reinvent the wheel when in fact a dinner-bringing schedule was already set up. I made a suggestion that no one else thought of because- well, I'm not sure, but I don't think they can see thestrels, most of 'em- and I joked about wearing a scarlet B for Bereaved.
Then I went to the pool. Chlorine usually makes me think of you anyway, so when the 85-year-old lifeguard (If I bonk my head underwater, do you think that guy would be able to drag me to safety? really?) asked me who I was punching so hard with my floatie underwater hand weights, I just smiled and said, "Aw, never kid a kidder!" because answering honestly- "Uh, lung tumors? And/or muscular dystrophy, you know, whichevs" would have made me seem a little craaazy. Hmmm.
I'm shooting championship games all day, so there's a lot of Black-Eyed Peas and R.E.M. and oh hell- lots of your favorite songs, all around. Right now "Sweet Caroline" is blasting so loudly that the reverberation from the speaker is literally pounding the floor in the media platform. Of course, they play it at EVERY game. Since this is a six-day tournament and all, this happens to be the fifth time this week and the third time today I've heard this song.
I'm going to choose to believe that the chorus- you know, the part that makes people do that cheesy pointing thing at wedding receptions- is you answering my question about how you are. The speakers are literally thumping the words "SO GOOD! SO GOOD! SO GOOD!" right into my feet. Glad to hear it.
As always, I miss you. And it sucks that you're dead.
Love,
Me
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