Heard at unknown location W –

A: Do you have the admin login?

M: No, even I haven’t been given the keys to the kingdom yet….

Me: Oh, have to wait for O to give them to you?

M: Yeah, he’s the king of the hill.

Me: We see who’s wearing the pants in this relationship.

M: I wear the butt-less chaps.

He is sitting in the chair, off balance and off kilter.

I see it in his eyes, I see it in his shoulders.

I can sense it. The tired, the discouragement, the lack of sleep.

You can almost feel it.

The wear and tear of the soul.

He is broken.

Some (many?) of you might wonder, what could persuade a 30-something year old to try to get into photography…. And I don’t just mean photography in the sense of “Oh, I like to take pictures for fun” – but rather “I love taking pictures, and I’d thoroughly enjoy making some money off them.”

That’s a good question – I’ve always had a love for photography – ever since my mother gave me a cheap focus-less cartridge camera when I was in the low single digits.

However, a busy life and a somewhat compulsive attitude made for many interesting years – many of them ignoring photography, though. (Cars, then rock climbing, then scuba diving, then motorcycles… What’s next?)

I have always desired to be artistic in some way – I love using my hands to create things – and I see beauty in situations/scenes that others often don’t notice (or so it seems). Photography feels to me like a good way of conveying this message; showing others what I see – and maybe what they’re missing.

I have been doing a lot of reading, studying and trying to learn…. Lighting techniques, “golden rules” et cetera – all in an attempt at catching up to what others have learned at much earlier ages.

Some of my favorite photographers are Strobist, for teaching us all how to light on the cheap; Chase Jarvis for being badass and honest; Bert Stephani for teaching us about beer goggles; Thomas Hawk for arranging photo walks (and teaching us how to deal with pesky security guards ), and a dozen others. (An aggregate of my photo reading can be found here.)

Since I’m not good with endings, here’s a thanks to all of you photographers out there willing to share your knowledge with us fledgeling photographers…. 🙂

Juan Mann had just come back to Sydney from London after his world turned upside down, and he had to go home. All he had left, was a carry on bag full of clothes, and a world full of trouble.

Standing in the airport watching other passengers meeting their family and loved ones, he felt alone. Alone in a world of people happy to see their loved ones.

He made a cardboard sign with “Free Hugs” on it, found a busy intersection, and stood there, holding the sign aloft.

But for a long time he was ignored, until a little old lady shared some of her grief, and received a hug in return.

And so starts the story of the ‘Free Hugs’ Campaign.

Feel free to click through and read more about it – it’s a story about loving others, being loved, and bringing a smile on people’s faces.

It is well known among my friend circle that I enjoy giving people hugs – so this idea strikes home with me.

I recently bought a shirt with large-letter “Free Hugs” on the front and back, which I’ll be wearing as much as I can – trying to live in the spirit, without needing to carry a sign with me everywhere. 🙂

So go out and give your friends a hug!

As I step outside, a momentary chill envelops me. I shiver once, lock the door, and stride purposefully toward my mount.

I turn the ignition, and the big cruiser springs to life with a growl. After a few seconds of rough idling, she settles in to a low rumble.

I stretch, and finish putting on my helmet and gloves as I watch the fog swirl in the triple beams of my headlights.

First gear. I slowly roll through the fog, leaving swirling trails of emptyness behind me. The fog is so thick, I can’t hear the engine echoing off the buildings – I might as well be in the middle of nowhere. Silence and dark all around me, as I glide through the dark, an island of light.

I twist the throttle, and the powerful engine snarls as I accelerate away. I work my way through the gears, moving along like a rocket – pointed on one end, red glow from the taillights behind me.

I pull over at a gas station to fill up – even as I’m standing there under the bright lights, it feels like I’m alone out there.

I merge onto the highway and into traffic. The fog has lifted in a tunnel-shape that follows the highway… I suppose enough cars go by to continually fight it back.

I drop back into the thickness of the fog as I exit the highway. In a split second, I go from almost no fog and light to pea soup and darkness. Once again, I am a rocket, roaring through the dark.

I pull into the parking lot, and let her idle for a few minutes. The tendrils of fog caress the headlights, as if they are calling out to the machine….

“Come run with us… run….”

It’s always strange when you first start a new blog – you know you have no readers, and yet you have a necessity to write your thoughts, actions and what-have-you’s.

As such, I’m starting this blog, dedicated largely to my journey through the world of trying to become a “real” photographer.

And thus starts the voyage of the fledgeling photographer.

(If you are not comfortable discussing females wearing strings up their butt cracks, please refrain from reading any further.)

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Dear thong-clad women of Austin,

I know that at least in some circumstances, wearing a thong can be appropriate…. At home with your husband (for the conservative) or your girlfriend (for the liberals).

I understand some women find them more comfortable, or aesthetically pleasing, or what have you not – what do I know? I either wear underwear, or I don’t.

However, going to the grocery store is generally not one of those moments… although, it is understandable – should you be on your way from your home, and need to stop by the grocery store, on your way to a late-night tryst – that you should find yourself in the store while wearing a thong.

Being as the logistics of perhaps going out, getting what you need, going home, changing, and then going to your tryst – are somewhat more complicated than necessary… I will grant you the allowance of wearing thongs to the grocery store.

However, thongs, in all their aesthetically pleasing-ness… Do NOT need to show two inches above the waist of your workout pants… I mean, really – would you want to see my underwear after a day of working construction in the sun? Hardly. Well, me neither.

Save for a few, any man can imagine the vile disgust that exists at the other end of that oh-so-thin piece of cloth. It’s more like a string, left to rot at the bottom of a sewer.

Well, so maybe not all thongs… But DAMN, some of you girls got some UGLY thong-action going on.

The End.