Money

I spend most of my money on food. There are three different types of meat in this photograph.
Do you doubt that I am rich?

I need to stop complaining about being broke.

Yes, I’m broke.

I owe the credit card company (companies, rather) upwards of $800 right now. On my slim income, that’s probably 1/8 of my yearly earnings. Pathetic. And hurrah for those bloodsuckers.

I have about $40 in my bank account, soon to be less, thank you Time Warner Cable, for the Cable that does not work, and the internet I don’t have a wireless router for.

But this is not much to complain about. No, it’s nothing moral; it’s not about not complaining because there are starving children in Africa and obese children living next door to me (actually, they’re pretty skinny; this is LA).

Realistically, unless I die, money is the most renewable resource in my life. Everything else is ebbing away. Like health.

Health and Pain

This is not the reason my leg gave out.

Honestly, I might enjoy being sick sometimes. It gives you a time to take a break from things that make you sick, like work, stress, responsibilities, and general irresponsibility.

Seriously, though, I’m a bit scared this time around. I’ve been having a lot of pain, dehydration, apathy, etc. more so than normal sickness.

I took a shower, got into bed, read a bit of Nathaniel Hawthorne, and woke up about an hour and a half later (after surreal dreams of twin brothers killing each other in the bleak cold of New England).

I tried to get out of bed, and I collapsed.

I tried to get back into bed, and fell again.

I realized, slowly, that my right leg was not working. I could move it, it wasn’t asleep, but it had absolutely no strength in it. It was like rubber.

It was all in a dreamlike quality, but painful, so I knew I was awake. I jammed my toe pretty hard, and hell, I fell. Ain’t pretty. I felt like an old woman, sans broken hip, thank god.

Somehow I pulled myself back into bed, and wondered what the hell just happened. I’m getting old. I’m sick? Hallucinating?

It’s frightening when you realize your body is falling apart, but cannot figure out why.

It’s my birthday soon.

Zits

Okay okay, so I’m actually not that far-removed from puberty (in terms of my chronological age). And I still get zits.

But when I do get zits, just know:

1. I’m probably PMSing.
2. Don’t bother me. I relapse into my early pubescent years and I promise you I will hurt you.
3. They get worse when I’m stressed or reading, because I pick at them without noticing.

Currently I have a dot on my forehead. A very big red dot. And I had to take a passport photo. That red dot, that I get maybe twice a year, will show up for the next 10 years on my passport, haunting me, and possibly prompting customs to ask whatever became of my eastern religious affiliation.

Compulsion

I have this bizarre sense of urgency. Like tomorrow I might become incapacitated. So I’d better finish my dealings today.

Compulsion.

What truly drives us?
Well, for me….it’s something along the lines of “I WANT” and “NOW”.
Only life is not as simple now that I don’t have someone wiping my butt.

Can’t be a kid forever.

The National Impact of “I WANT” “NOW” “A LOT”

This, ladies and gentlemen, is literally a bucket of Pepsi. A BUCKET, PEOPLE! My hands are on the big side too.

Note the patriotic colors? Thank you, Colonel.

The Darkroom

This is the site of my future darkroom. My roommate might kill me.
Nevertheless, I will make it happen. And yes, that is a poster of dinosaurs on the floor.
Because dinosaurs are pretty cool. T.Rex, ladies. T.Rex.
Poster is courtesy of National Geographic.

Once upon a time, (three years ago) I wrote something that I still go back to when photography becomes just a job.

” I didn’t quite get the SF prints out the way I wanted them to, but it was alright. I made some other decent prints. Too bad I didn’t have any 5 X 7 paper left. That’s my favorite size, though it’s impossible to find decent frames for them. Sure, film photography takes a lot of patience, but heck, that’s what I need to develop, no pun intended.

I’ve realized why I love photography so much. It’s therapeutic. And tonight, I had the entire darkroom to myself. Just me, the enlarger, and the processor. Well, actually, I was using two enlargers.

It’s quite peaceful in there, regardless of whether I’m the only person or if there’s an entire class of 28 people. The rhythmic hum of the machine, the intermittent clack of the negative tray, the rustle of photo paper, and otherwise silence… it’s a serene isolation. And I can think about things beyond myself.

There’s something truly novel about recording the world the way I see it. And in a strange way, photography also makes me change my perspective of the world around me. It forces me to look at the normal, the plain, the mundane, in a different way. Kinda makes me appreciate the small things in life a little more. It makes me notice the tough little flower (or pretty weed) growing out of the tennis court, or the harmonious geometry of pipes in a dingy parking garage.

Photography makes me appreciate things for just being. It simply reflects the inspiring reality that I see. In a sense, it parallels writing. I write what I know, what I feel, what I see. I write to express what I perceive. And just like writing, my photography isn’t necessarily for other people’s enjoyment. When I write and when I take pictures, I realize that it isn’t me trying to create something, it’s me trying to preserve the moment. But in preserving the moment, I’m not trying to battle against the inevitability of time passing. I’m simply trying to understand the moment.

And I’m trying to understand myself. Myself in relation to the moment. Myself in relation to the people around me. Myself in relation to the world around me, because there are things bigger than myself out there.”

So today, partially out of that childish compulsion, nostalgia, and the futile effort to know myself and to express my subjectivity to other people (best way to get people to see it how you see it), I decided to buy a darkroom. (Not the dark, or the room, but the stuff that goes in it).

The equipment is almost as old as I am. And just about as dusty. Some of the cords are corroded, so I will have to figure out how to do some rewiring and repairs. Most everything looks in working order.

It’s my little baby, my little project.

I’ve been meaning to get my hands dirty again. It’s been too long. I just missed that darkroom too much. I had to bring it home with me.

So I have these two huge boxes filled with graduated cylinders, tanks, these cool (but useless) machines that rotate your developing tanks for you (I used to hand-shake, like a martini), very odd, puzzling pieces of metal that I have yet to figure out, easels, a really monstrous enlarger (HUUUUGE PRINTS), lamphouse, and some specialized stuff for color processing.

I got it for $100. A big expense for one in debt, but hey, I only live once, I will get money eventually, and I love this. Sorry, Mom. I may be unwise now, but see, I am smiling. And I’ll smile even more later.