Well, I have to get twelve more people for portraits so I can finish next week’s assignment. Hopefully, I can grab some folks from work and get things rolling. I have to make six prints from this assignment so it will be a busy time in the darkroom.My next assignment is photographing my “Personal Idea of Beauty”. That could be interesting. Beauty has many different forms. I can certainly see landscapes and cityscapes as beauty. There are also a couple of women who I know that I would like to shoot portraits. The opposite sex is a big part of what I consider beautiful, the grace of form, expression and a unique essence which is probably impossible for me to completely comprehend. I am trying to think of other things too shoot that bring to mind beauty. I suppose I really just need to sit with my eyes closed and allow images of beauty to enter. What is difficult is that some images of beauty are difficult to photograph or exist for a moment and not easy to catch. Besides, it is kind of hard for me to drive up to Death Valley during the week or fly to Bora Bora to capture something that impressed me as beautiful in the past.

When I was leaving for home this evening, I took my usual turn on to 8th Street. At the first intersection, I stopped for the light and realized that, across the intersection, a car was pointed in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, 8th is a one way street. My first thought was that this was somehow related to a film shoot of some kind; however, I noticed that the car was old and dumpy. In addition, I couldn’t spot any lazy teamsters standing around doing nothing, always a clue that a production is in progress.The wrong way driver, sensing that there was something not quite right about the situation, quickly turned onto the intersecting street. Disaster was averted.Still, the wrong way car reminded me a bit about life. How many times have we turned onto the wrong street, headed in the wrong direction? How many times have we become lost and wondered when or if we would ever be found?

Today, I attended a CPE class on fraud detection and internal controls. There is nothing like eight hours in a hotel ballroom with a couple hundred CPAs; excitement filled the air. Actually, it’s kind of fun to hear fraud stories. It’s better than just hearing nothing but technical accounting stuff. It was also nice that it was a large room with a lot of people. It makes it easier to just blend in with the crowd and space-out from time to time. It kind of reminded me of my undergraduate school days sitting in big lecture halls, anonymous to the professor as well as the other students.I always like to watch the sea of people with cell phones up to their ears standing outside of the room during breaks. What a sight. Alright, I checked for messages a couple times, too.Tomorrow, I return to the usual office hijinx.

My “entry that I am uncomfortable making but I should make because this is exactly the type of uncomfortable entry that one would make in a journal” entry.

It has been an unusual past couple of months. There is the home purchase which was significant and certainly a source of no small degree of stress. But, perhaps more significant than my large material purchase, has been my foray into physical and psychological intimacy with someone of the opposite sex, an event as rare for me as buying my first home.

The relative rarity of being involved with another person makes the experience stand out in rather stark contrast against a life that is generally filled with little else other than work and day-to-day routines which generally rule my existence.Now that this intimacy is concluded, it has been rather difficult to deal with the emotional highs and the lows. The worst of which has been the deep sadness which has kept me awake many nights. I know the feelings will diminish and the memories will lose their clarity and force but the process of waiting carries a certain level of pain that must be bottled and shelved so that my usual baseline of mood can be regained and managed.

Unfortunately, I often find myself bleeding away the accompanying positive feelings as well.Sometimes the worst part is just the inner dialogue that I play inside my head in which I list out all of the ways in which I failed. I’m wretchedly good at drilling down on every little mistake I make and replaying it numerous times. I think about the sexual ineptness, the hyper-vigilance, difficulty building trust and the simple fact that I did not make someone a priority over matters that, in the grand scheme of things, were not all that important.I should have learned more appropriate interrelationship skills long before reaching 41 years of age.

Unfortunately, it is not possible to turn back time and correct all those mistakes that relentlessly add up over the course of one’s life.I think that this will be my only entry on the topic. I just needed to put these thoughts into print. It is time to just accept what happened and move along come what may.

I have work tomorrow and wish I didn't have to go. I will try to see if I can take Friday and next Monday off so that I can spend a little time with moving. Hopefully, I can work it out. I need to have some plumbing work done also so that I can see about getting a washer and dryer. That would be a nice convenience. Laundromats are pretty depressing. Coin laundromats are right up there with bus depots for being depressing. Wal Marts come in a close third.

I was picking up some odds and ends at Trader Joes. As I stood in the pretzel and chips aisle, I noticed an elderly husband and wife. The elderly man was looking at the Sesame Sticks and asking his wife about them. His manner of speech leads me to believe that he had some dementia or similar mental deterioration. His wife was patient and told him that they didn’t need those and had to make sure that they got all the items on their list. As I stood, listening to them, I began to feel very, very sad.

I was hoping today would be an improvement over yesterday. Unfortunately, last night was spent lying in the dark, staring at the ceiling or looking at the filtered light coming through the blinds. I was warm, the windows were all open and the sound of the 405 came through as background music to my wandering thoughts.When I was very young, I once had a dream about the end of the world. It was full of fog and grey and silence. I was reminded of that dream last night. Now, another day has begun and I feel out of synch. It is one of those days in which I will operate automatically. Part of me will act and interact and another part will be watching from a distance. I think I would be just another crazy transient roaming the streets if I didn’t have the ability to disassociate. The only drawback is that I will never be an integrated person, merely a ghost.

Well, now my house has a working security system. It has door sensors, motion detectors, a panic button and whatnot. All I need now are some security cams, lasers in the front yard and it will be like a sort of fortress.I see myself living like a sort of dark and brooding Bruce Wayne except that I’m not a millionaire and I don’t have a secret identity as a superhero…or none that I care to reveal at this time.

Sinus infection is improving. I am feeling a degree of depression which I have found often follows colds and flus. There must be some sort of chemical imbalance that occurs as a result of overcoming an illness that contributes to these feelings. It is a strange sort of depressive feeling. It is more a spacey, detached feeling. It is not that I don’t always feel somewhat disassociated at times but just a little more so right now. However, along with the spacey feelings and sadness, there is sometimes an odd clarity. I notice odd things. I hear the individual components comprising the freeway background noise, elements of multiple conversations taking place, a dog barking in the distance. I notice all the little cracks in walls and sidewalks, the leaves on plants and why it is that some are cut or broken and not others and what was it exactly that caused that to happen. And, the sun seems brighter, too bright as if we were in the future and the sun was just beginning to expand. In short, weird details sort of stand out and resonate.

I guess it is just an artifact of being wired wrong. I wonder how people who just hang out in sport’s bars, wear baseball caps, drive SUVs and get married and have kids see things. Do they notice cracks in walls? Do they care? Should they care? Maybe they’re happy because they don’t notice all this stuff. I sometimes just wish I could make the time go faster and get the final thirty or so years over with in a hurry. I’m tired.

So, I am getting some sort of cold/sinus infection sort of thing. I got some antibiotics. Hopefully, things will improve in a few days. Unfortunately, I do not have the luxury of being able to stay home. In fact, today I had to drive down to San Clemente for a meeting. Fortunately, the meeting was pretty easygoing and informal. Also, the traffic was not too bad.

At one point, while driving home on the 405, a large tanker truck pulled into the lane in front of me. Now, most of the time, tanker trucks carry pretty standard stuff like gasoline, milk, LOX or other liquid gases and there is often a sign of sorts that tells you what is inside the tank. This particular truck and its cargo surprised the hell out of me. The sign on the back of this truck read, “MOLTEN SULFER”. I mean, where was this truck heading for its delivery, Hell?

---------------------------

The other day, at my photography class, I was explaining to my instructor that I would likely take a break from classes next quarter because of the house and work. The class I would have taken is one taught by my instructor’s wife. My instructor responded that he understood and agreed with my decision. He also told me that he had mentioned me to his wife. He said that my work, style and darkroom ability was very good and he felt that my next step was to become more familiar with different mediums and formats. It was really cool to hear that from someone who is a very established photographic artist and known for having a critical eye.

My photography has always been something that I have been doing more or less on my own, spending a lot of money and taking a lot of time out to shoot and print my work. Getting those positive words was motivating. I hope that over the next few months, I can shoot a lot more. I need to build my portfolio and especially focus on certain themes or subject matter for which I want to compile images. Then, it is a matter of figuring out where to show my stuff or how to get it noticed.

Whenever people mistakenly think that I have children and/or married, I always react rather surprised. It’s always, “Why would you think that!?”

It’s a little like buying the house; it just seems like this real “adult” thing and I don’t always feel like a stereotype “adult”. I feel like I am only outwardly responsible, hiding an inner core of irresponsibility.

I only have two more photo classes this quarter. After that, I could take a class beginning in the summer but I am thinking of taking a break so I can concentrate on the new house, work, etc. I like the classes but it isn’t always fun when there is too much pressure. Part of me is hesitating because the class is on using view cameras and I just picked up a used 4X5 on ebay. Actually, I should devote more time to my website and using Photoshop. That could actually be a better use of my time.

Vacations and trips my need to be curtailed but I will still probably go up to the desert some time in the near future. It actually might be good to go a little later. It’ll be terribly hot but, since I always go in the winter, it may be a good thing to see if there is a different quality to the light at a different time of the year. Maybe I can capture some subtle nuances I have never seen before.

You've watched paint dry. You've watched grass grow. Now you're down to this...

1. Grab a calculator. (you won't be able to do this one in your head)

2. Key in the first three digits of your phone number (NOT the area code)

3. Multiply by 80

4. Add 1

5. Multiply by 250

6. Add the last 4 digits of your phone number

7. Add the last 4 digits of your phone number again.

8. Subtract 250

9. Divide number by 2

It seems magical! Well, sort of.

Transitional

I was working out on the Stairmaster, thinking about things as I often do when in this situation of being stuck in one spot for an hour. In particular, I was thinking about how I define myself in relation to others. I decided that I am a “transitional man”.

I see my interactions as short-term rather than long-term and serving a unique purpose, to assist others in moving forward to more successful and rewarding relationships in their lives. When I look back on my childhood, I recall that all of my friendships were short-term and often with someone new to the school or otherwise initially unpopular. Usually, after a period of time, the person transitioned from me to the normal, long-term friendships within the established social hierarchy. The same sort of interactions continued to take place throughout my teen years and even pretty much through college.

In college, I would get to know people and then once they found normal friends, I would not really hear from them again. Often, I would pass by these people on campus and, after waving and saying, “Hi”, would subsequently be ignored by them. Anyway, I suppose, looking back on it, I did provide something of an important service to a great many.

While I chugged and sweated away on the stairs, I contemplated on the nature of what I provide as a transitional type of person.I think that I provide a safe, bland, non-confrontational sounding board for people who are new to an area, temporarily friendless or perhaps having just gotten out of a mental hospital.

Once such people gain a certain sense of self-confidence and comfort with their interpersonal skills, they are able to move on to normal friendships, relationships, etc. In addition, by keeping interactions with people brief, they are generally transitioning away from me at around the same time that they may be beginning to grow uncomfortable with my myriad neuroses. Everyone wins.

Now, if only I could market this service. Oh well, I suppose I should be happy in the knowledge that I am helping others even if it is somewhat inadvertent and indirect.

I happened to be flipping channels when I came upon the last half of Jeremiah Johnson, a Robert Redford film from a while back. I remember my brother and I going to see that film when we were kids. We were both always interested in mountain men and the idea of escaping the real world to disappear into the mountains or the desert. But, we liked that film when we saw it. For some reason, we just kind of identified with it. Somewhat related, we always used to read this newspaper comic called Rick O’Shay & Hipshot. It was a western comic. But, I bring it up because every year, around the beginning of winter, the cartoonist used to always write a story in which the main characters go on a hunting trip up in the mountains. Again, it had sort of the same feeling to it. I don’t know, I just thought about those things tonight. They are not sad thoughts but thoughts filled with a dreamy, mysterious feeling, perhaps a wanderlust that never completely went away.

I made M&M cookies. I do not know if it is merely my imagination but I feel as if there are far too many blue M&Ms. I am wondering if this more recent color is being emphasized for some reason. Perhaps I am mistaken and this is nothing more than the novelty effect playing tricks on my eyes and brain. Next time I buy M&Ms, I may count the colors to see if my hunch is correct.

I didn’t have any ham this Easter. Actually, I had salad and some pasta and some of the cookies that I baked above. Bumper Sticker: “Vietnam Veterans Against Kerry”. Boy, groups form very quickly. There was even enough time to print and distribute bumper stickers. It never ceases to amaze me.

I need to start packing in preparation for my move to my house. I don’t have that much to pack but I need to go through and see what I can purge and box what remains. I don’t want my new house full of junk. I refuse to become a horder. For now, my rather cheap, utilitarian furniture will have to suffice. I don’t want to buy new furniture for a while. For one, I don’t want to spend a lot of money right now. Second, I want to buy furniture which will go with my design ideas.

The house is very much a blank, white walled canvas and I will need to give thought to how I wish to change it. The outside will be a bigger challenge as I try to decide how best to landscape a hillside. A lot of stonework and less grass comes to mind. When I was doing some audit jobs in the Midwest, I used to overhear men always discussing lawn work. Lawns are some big deal out there. I guess it is that whole American dream thing. Besides, they tend to have big lawns out there and, being that the weather is seasonal, it is real important to show off the lawn during the Spring and Summer months.

So, anyway, I would listen to people go on and on about lawn care and how they spent the entire weekend applying this chemical or pulling up this or that weed and I used to just raise my eyes and pray that I would never turn into one of those people.

It was a long day of meetings today. Even though such meetings require little thought or action on my part, I always come away feeling tired and drained of energy. Sometimes meetings are so boring that, as a distraction, I and my fellow employees take note of our boss’s idiosyncrasies. In particular, my boss uses the phrase “In terms of….” over and over as a sort of nervous habit. He uses it so often that we like to keep tally counts of how many times he says these words during every meeting. I have never realized just how many times “In terms of” could be used in a single sentence let alone a two hour meeting. It's amazing what you end up doing to keep amused.Well, tomorrow I receive the keys to my new home. Now, I just have to begin the process of moving my things over the next two or three weeks. I think I will also buy a washer and dryer so I don’t have to bother with Laundromats anymore. I also realized that I need to start accumulating tools, digging implements and all of those other homeowner type things that homeowner’s own.

My Mother's BirthdayI

t is April 2nd. If she had lived, my Mom would have been 80 years old today.

She died April 8th, eight years ago. Her death was somewhat abrupt. Unlike my Father whose death was the inevitable conclusion to a protracted illness, my Mother succumbed rapidly to a series of seizures ultimately leading to her entering a comatose state followed by brain death.

Prior to her death, she was by no means in sterling health. It was not, however, readily apparent that she would degenerate in such a rapid manner.

When my Mother experienced the first seizures, I was across the country, beginning a new job. My Father, not wishing to alarm me, played down the seriousness of her condition at first. Finally, the call came from him that I had better fly home as things were becoming grim. I remember booking a flight and, the next morning, being in the back of a limo, on my way to the Lexington, Kentucky airport. There was snow on the ground and the sky was a grey glow. I had only just begun to get used to seeing snow on the ground and, at that particular moment, it served to make me feel homesick and out of place.

It was a stark contrast to Los Angeles. I arrived in the midst of a Santa Ana condition. The sky was blue and cloudless. The sun was a glaring white light. Each day following my arrival, I would stand in my Mother’s room, occasionally looking out the window at the beautiful blue sky, sun shining with the mountains in the background. Inside, my Mother lay still in the bed, oblivious to the beautiful day outside, her chest rising and falling to the rhythmic sound of the respirator, a sound that I grew to hate.

Some nights, I would return home from visiting my Mom, unable to get that sound out of my head. It was a sound of hopelessness, a machine noise that reminded me how little of her human presence yet remained.Sometimes my Mother would show signs of movement, reflexive behavior that would generate a brief second of hope. But I had only to look up at the EEG printouts, taped to the walls of the room, exhibiting row upon row of flat lines and delta spikes and any hopes that I may have had were instantly quashed.I have always felt bad that I did not have the opportunity to speak with my Mother about the time that she became permanently unconscious. It would have been nice to have said “goodbye”.

My brother, sister and I all agreed to the removal of the respirator. My sister did not wish the removal to take place on Easter, the 7th. I saw no harm in one additional day and so we agreed on the morning of Monday, the 8th. Having become respirator-dependent, it was only moments following removal from the machine that my Mother died. Afterwards, I remember sitting in the waiting room, staring at the floor. My sister walked over and asked me if I was okay. I told her that I had bought Mom a birthday card a couple of weeks ago and now I didn’t know what the hell to do with the card. Ultimately, I kept the card and still have it. Death has little of the Hollywood glamour or drama about it. It is rather unromantic, anticlimactic and leaves one asking the question “why”.