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Posts Tagged ‘photography’

This is for the 52 stories group on flickr, where we take one picture each week that goes with a story. I’ll be putting them here as well as on flickr.

living in polaroid

The flash stinging our eyes was the sign to run. As soon as we heard the whirr and the bright light hit us, we’d race to my father, trying to be the one who got to hold the photo while it processed.

The times I got to hold it, I would run off into a corner, fighting off my sisters. These were magical moments. Watching the photo slowly develop, people coming into focus; this wasn’t technology. It was wizardry. First there was nothing, and then hands, faces, hair, sky, grass. I’d wave the photo around to get it to dry (which I was told never to do), then I’d hold it up to my face and inhale deeply. The smell of film processing. The smell of magic. And always, the instant gratification.

There’s a stack of Polaroids next to me. My baby sister, spaghetti sauce all over her high chair.The olive green living room, the colonial furniture, my cousins wearing ponchos, a ’65 Chevelle in the driveway. The backyard before the extension on the house, before the deck, before the pool. The stereo cabinet, everyone wearing long dresses to a party, plastic Halloween masks, beehive hairdos and women wearing too much lipstick, with long cigarettes hanging out of their mouths. Bell bottoms, peace signs, wide lapels, rotary phones.

There’s my neighborhood the way it used to be; stores that no longer exist, open spaces that are now filled with strip malls, quiet streets now turned into four lane race tracks. Snow like we haven’t seen in ten years, remnants of a tornado on the lawn and hey, I almost forgot about that cement fence in front of the house, and my father’s 1958 pickup truck that spontaneously combusted one night, and how much I was frightened by Santa Claus.

Every photo is a memory. But there’s something about Polaroids that make the memories more special. The feel of the film, the white space, the coloring, the clear recall of the sound the camera made; they are things from another time. They are magic.

[Also today, there’s a new (to some) story up at life, after all: she’s a pinball wizard]

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a song for the deaf

(reposted from my flickr page)

song for the deaf (365-262 and QOTSA #18))

Day 262 of 365: a year in songs and photos
#18 in the Queens of the Stone Age Discography Thing
Song: QOTSA, Song For The Deaf

Subtitled: tuesday morning, contemplating

When I take these morning photos, I’m usually doing my own version of meditating. I relax, breathe, focus on the photo and rid my mind of everything else. I clear my head so I can better face the day.

I got lost in train of thought while I sat there in the wet grass at 5:30 am, staring at some weeds lined up against the back wall of the house.

I spend a lot of time telling myself to let things go, to be the better person and not make confrontations when those confrontations will only lead to more. I’ve always been known as the peacemaker, the one who will put aside her own feelings and needs if it just means making everyone happy and avoiding a battle. That’s not always a good thing. Sometimes one needs to speak up instead of bowing down.

I have also spent a good deal of my thinking time the past two years or so telling myself that I would not let anyone treat me or speak to me in a manner that I do not deserve. One of my mantras of those years has been "you get what you tolerate," and I decided at some point to no longer tolerate being spoken to or treated in a way that is demeaning, demoralizing or condescending.

This morning I had to try to reconcile those two thoughts. I feel the need for confrontation. I have allowed myself to tolerate these behaviors for a few months now in order to be the better person and not make waves where too many waves already exist. So what do I do? Do I confront or do I sit back and hope that this change taking place today will alleviate some of the problem?

I actually struggled with this all night. I composed in my head what I would say to her; I was careful to speak from the "I" and to not sound mean or accusatory. I worded it in such a way that I wasn’t being harsh about it, I was merely explaining why I have been harboring animosity and how the simple act yesterday of slapping me down when it was completely unecessary and, in fact, the opposite was called for, made me sad instead of the usual anger this person’s antics make me feel.

So I’m sitting there this morning and 5:30 turns to almost six and I’m still staring at these weeds wondering how to frame them and it dawns on me.

A song for the deaf.

Even if I did confront, what would be the use of explaining my feelings and emotions to a person who would not even hear it? A person who has never heard a word I said and instead talks over me, and everyone else? What’s the point?

Well, the point is, I said I wouldn’t tolerate it anymore. So do I confront just for me, just to get it out of my system, knowing it’s going to fall on deaf ears, or do I just go about my day and my life, and hope that the change in environment today will help dissipate my lingering bad feelings?

Song for the Deaf: youtube.com/watch?v=Ipe-PH6CBa0

I just realized I used this song in the QOTSA series already. Oh well, there are probably a few songs I’ll do more than once. That’s what’s nice about having a project that is all your own. You make the rules.

And I can just say what I said about it before:

This song is brutal both lyrically and musically and I use that word in the best way possible. The vocals are done by both Mark Lanegan and Josh Homme, and at some point Nick Oliveri is in there, too.

Nobody’s coming down the hall
Nobody echoes in my head
Broken reflection outta luck
Nobody ever needed it

I got what was
I want to take what’s left
Ready now

Beautiful senses are gone
Canary in a gilded cage
Singin

Sweet, soft, and low
I will poison you all
Come closer, racing to your tongue

I got what was
I want to take what’s left
No talk will cure
What’s lost, or save what’s left
For the deaf

The blind can go get fucked
Lie beside the ditch
This halo round my neck
Has torn out every stictch

Who are you hiding
Is it safe for the deaf
Beautiful cancer
Infiltrate and forget
I saw you coming
I heard not a thing
A mistake not to listen
When I knew where you’d been

And I got what was
I want to take what’s left
No talk will cure
What’s lost, or save what’s left
For the deaf

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because i must be on crack

I started yet another new photography project, in addition to the 365 songs and photos project: The Queens of the Stone Age discography in photographs (for lack of a more creative name).

It is my goal (though I have set no time limit) to represent every QOTSA song in a photograph.

When the voices in my head speak to me about new projects at 3am, I should really ignore them.

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visiting the 64 world’s fair

Saturday, we took a spontaneous trip to Flushing Meadows Park in Queens, site of the 1964 World’s Fair. I hadn’t been there since my aunt took me to the fair when I was two. Wish I could remember it.

What remains standing is the pavilion and the Unisphere, both of which can be seen from the Grand Central Parkway. I loved the run down feel of the pavilion, standing under it, looking at the rust and peeled paint and the vines crawling over it, you can almost feel the ghostly presence of the past, imagining the millions of people walking through it, looking at displays of the world of tomorrow (the pavilion was actually called the Tent of Tomorrow).

Hailing itself as a “Universal and International” exposition, the Fair’s theme was “Peace Through Understanding,” dedicated to “Man’s Achievement on a Shrinking Globe in an Expanding Universe. (wiki)”

That sounds like the title of an album by some indie band.

Here’s a video of what the fair actually looked like. And a slideshow. And a really neat home movie. A site dedicated to the 64 fair.

And how the fair looks today, through my eyes.

science fiction double feature edge of the world observatory he's got the whole world in his hands uprust (for susan) vines and vividness i have come for your women! home is where the rust is on top of the world the long walk creeping radiation don't let's start rocket thrower sculpted

the world is yours (365-175)

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visiting the 64 world’s fair

Saturday, we took a spontaneous trip to Flushing Meadows Park in Queens, site of the 1964 World’s Fair. I hadn’t been there since my aunt took me to the fair when I was two. Wish I could remember it.

What remains standing is the pavilion and the Unisphere, both of which can be seen from the Grand Central Parkway. I loved the run down feel of the pavilion, standing under it, looking at the rust and peeled paint and the vines crawling over it, you can almost feel the ghostly presence of the past, imagining the millions of people walking through it, looking at displays of the world of tomorrow (the pavilion was actually called the Tent of Tomorrow).

Hailing itself as a “Universal and International” exposition, the Fair’s theme was “Peace Through Understanding,” dedicated to “Man’s Achievement on a Shrinking Globe in an Expanding Universe. (wiki)”

That sounds like the title of an album by some indie band.

Here’s a video of what the fair actually looked like. And a slideshow. And a really neat home movie. A site dedicated to the 64 fair.

And how the fair looks today, through my eyes.

science fiction double feature edge of the world observatory he's got the whole world in his hands uprust (for susan) vines and vividness i have come for your women! home is where the rust is on top of the world the long walk creeping radiation don't let's start rocket thrower sculpted

the world is yours (365-175)

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365-93: thorn in my side

thorn in my side

Day 93 of 365: a year in songs and photos
Song: Quicksand, Thorn in my Side

This was an accidental picture. I forgot what setting I had the camera on and the flash went off. I wrote off the shot. Later when I was going through the photos I took outside today (none of which I liked) I decided this was the only keeper. Go figure.

I’m not going to write about thorns in my side, though. That could take days.

I want to tell you how I am an idiot and almost killed myself today.

It was a miserable, cold, rainy, windy, disgusting New York day. It even thundered, in the middle of winter. The weather was treacherous at times; the rain would let up a bit and then all of a sudden come down in a windblown deluge for about ten minutes, immediately flooding the streets (my ridiculously high property taxes still do not afford me a proper drainage system, I guess).

I had made lunch plans with a dear friend I hadn’t seen since before my vacation and didn’t want to break them, so I ventured out of the office at noon and headed to the diner, despite the rational side of my brain telling me this wasn’t good driving weather. Who listens to their rational side, anyhow?

I was cruising along at a nice clip down a main street. When I say “a nice clip” I mean I was probably going too fast for the weather conditions. But there was no one else on the road. I was alone, thinking how the roads really weren’t as bad as everyone said they were. What wimps! Ype, just me, the rain, the Von Bondies on the stereo and………..holy shit, when did they put a lake in the middle of the road?? All of a sudden, my car felt like a giant, unseen hand had taken control of it. It lifted a little bit and pulled left and pulled right and my windshield was plastered with a huge wave of water so I couldn’t see and as the car was hydroplaning sideways through the enormous puddle, I looked out my side window to try to get my bearings and all I saw was the cement of an underpass and some guardrails and my life flash before my eyes.

Now, I’ve been in accidents before. I was in one not too long ago where I knew I was going to be hit from behind before it happened and all I could do was look in my rear view mirror and prepare myself for death (obviously, the death part never happened). I was doing much the same today. Just nonchalantly thinking to myself, as I was flying through air and water (allow me some hyperbole here, please) “Gee, I’m going to die now.” And then I thought “I hope someone remembers to feed the cat when I’m gone.” And just as I was about to renounce my agnosticism and repent for my plethora of sins, the car was back on solid ground and I was on my merry way to a cheeseburger and french fries.

It took about fifteen seconds for the whole thing to transpire. I think I missed two lines of the song that was playing while I was airborne. When the car settled down again, I played it real cool like and just started singing again without missing a beat. Just in case anyone was looking. And I’m sure if anyone was looking, they were saying “Wow, that asshole sure is lucky she didn’t kill herself.” What that person would not see was how bad my hands were shaking.

I drove about 20mph the rest of the way to the diner and took a different road back to work.

The moral of the story, kids? SPEED KILLS.

Well, it could.

And now, I must get Every Rose Has Its Thorn out of my head.

(By the way, the song used tonight is in my top 20 of favorite songs ever)

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365-92: let’s get together in the bathroom stall

let's get together in a bathroom stall

Day 92 of 365: a year in songs and photos
Song: Dead Milkmen, I Hate Myself

There are rules of etiquette for using the bathroom at work. Rule #1, in my book, is

DO NOT SPEAK TO ME WHILE I AM IN THE STALL.

Seriously. What makes you think I want to hear about your daughter’s dance recital while I’m trying to pee? And I certainly don’t want to listen to your conspiracy theories about Hilary Clinton while I’m changing my tampon. And for the love of god, I really don’t want to have to hear you shout over the sound of your own pee stream while you are reciting a recipe for blueberry muffins.

The bathroom stall is a place of sanctity. It is not a living room parlor. It is not a coffeehouse. It is not a party room. It is a place where I perform the bodily function of elimination. It’s not a chat room. If you want to talk to me while I’m washing my hands, that’s all well and good. I’ll just go ahead and nod and mhhmm you as if this wasn’t the fourteenth time you were telling me the story about how your adorable little snowflake once saved the life of a cat who fell down a sewer. But I swear on my Star Wars figures that if you EVER again try to tell me that story while I am locked in the stall, I will wait until you get to the part where your kid gets a medal of honor from the town councilman and just as you start the phrase “standing ovation” I will let out the loudest fart you’ve ever heard in your life. It will leave you breathless and unable to finish your damn story.

I just want to pee in peace. Is that too much to ask?

Also: I don’t know if you try to shake off like a dog when you’re done or if you just have some weird aim thing going on with your hoo-ha, but if you get pee all over the seat, have the decency to wipe it off before the next person goes in there. Your new nickname around the office is Annie Sprinkles.

That said, I can’t believe I took a photo of a toilet bowl.

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