Escalating

I have a stalker.

A reall life stalker.

It started innocently enough. Just a friendly older man initiating conversation and noticing when I'd changed my hair, despite the fact that the people closest to me were oblivious to any change. Got a little weird when he followed me out of the coffeeshop, but I chalked it up to coincidence. Weirder still when he tapped me on the shoulder mid-conversation and walked off. Slightly juvenile for a man over the age of fifty. But why does that not surprise me? Hit breaking point when he ran up in front of me and took my picture, twice, then proceeded to follow me around downtown taking candid photos of yours truly looking freaked out.

It's times like these I praise Allah my brother is paid by the government to kick men in the balls.

You think I'm a fascist pig

Reason number one Rivers Cuomo should've rethought the Ivy League education:

"I don't want to be a chump...."

Who says 'chump'?

Reason it makes him sexier than hell...and believe me, hell is very, VERY sexy:

Who says 'chump'?

I put a gun to my roommate's head and force her to dress and act according to my will. Then I suck in other friends through the power of persuasion. Does this make me a god yet?



I told my father I was taking photos of my friends in the bathtub...he then asked if they were starting an amateur porn site. I didn't respond. But now that I think about it, making that extra leap into softcore porn might not be such a bad idea. Watered-down erotica photography...any thoughts? Good move?



Saturday morning Kristi and I went out on a photo excursion to Keeneland. Good times, effin' cold, lots of short men named Jesus and weird smells. I think I'm going back this Saturday.



The rest of last week is just a blur. I have Rob to blame/thank for that fact. Never have I slept so little in one week. So little, in fact, that my eye hasn't stopped twitching yet. It's hot...trust me.

My kind of day

Another deliciously gray day in a string of three. The kind that can only be classified as "indie" because, by most standards, it defies categorical classification. Slight breeze, jacket optional, frequent drizzle. All in all, the kind of day in which you're permitted to maintain a typical facial expression (No Smile) without attracting attempts at cheer from passersby.

The kind of day you spend buying a super kitsch retro lamp which will ultimately serve as subject matter for many a photograph. Or learning about the history of photography from the 4th century on and cutting your roommate's hair because you've acquired a multitude of semi-talents including cosmotology, belittling bookstore employees when they assume Evelyn Waugh is female, and advanced roman numeral mathematics, all the while excelling at nothing of importance. Still unemployed.

The kind of day when coffee should be on tap and your scarf should be as ostentatious as humanly possible. James Brown should be played at top volume and the foosball table moved outdoors, preferably close to a busy intersection.

I am...

...wasting an afternoon in the backyard
...still stealing my neighbour's wireless access
...listening to Seu Jorge...on repeat
...photoshopping...somebody put an end to this
...smoking...no, seriously...I singed my shirt sleeve on leftover candles from last night's shoot
...such a helpless reject
...in dire need of water

I am determined to make Dre a star

Thursday evening I forced Dre into her senior prom dress, my fishnets and Converse. Wait...in retrospect, 'forced' isn't the right word. She was far too excited to hop into that "pretty pink dress" for a good two hours. All in all, the neighbors and my parents both are ready to call Eastern State...but that's okay. Normal people rarely exude creativity, or wear fishnets with a prom dress...and that's entirely too unfortunate.

The highlight, when Kristi unexpectedly showed up to the house to find a punk prom queen in the stairwell.