My arms ache. Tossed and turned all night last night even though I was in the presence of a my girl, who tolerated such sleepy behavior better than I did. It must be hard to sleep, when I wake up every 20 minutes and yell, "Fuck!"
At least that's what I'm thinking...
I shot an up-and-coming Japanese male model/actor yesterday and have been working on the final proofs all night. Photoshop mouse-work and nomenclature typing does not achy-arms help. But he leaves for Tokyo Friday morning and needs the shots for his book, and it's a gig, and I'm happy to oblige. I don't have enough males in my book. Or money in my bank.
The Deftones' "Around The Fur" is on in the background which helps dull the pain in my arms, if only enough to keep going (for the record, their "B-Sides" collection tops everything). The Shiraz is also helping, although it is the cheap stuff from Down Under, but it'll do. That and the promise of "Death Proof" and some Thai food that showed up about 30 minutes ago.
I am way behind in scanning my personal work, but the girls will just have to understand. The girls will just have to understand.
Dropped the portrait book off at Rolling Stone today with little or no fanfare (i.e. Jann Wenner was not in the lobby with Hunter S. Thompson and Patti Smith waiting for me), but it felt good to get the work out there. Next stop Blender, Spin, and all those other music oriented publications that still exist in print form. I wanna shoot Nick Cave, but I'd settle for Shawn Corey Carter. Shit, The Hold Steady live about 10 blocks from here and a guy from Clap Your Hands and Say Yeah! literally lives right next door.
I gotta get my shit together, man...
That last sentence reminds (such that it was) me of something I've been thinking about for a while - my writing/speaking style. I fall into the category of "intellectual" and "snob" (at least as far as certain wine, films and music is concerned - oh, and photography too) but, even though I think and argue that way, I don't talk or write that way. Over the years - and many of them, I've developed this cadence that I'm comfortable with. Sorta like Kerouac's description of the keys of the typewriter sounding like jazz, or those machines choreographed to Philip Glass in "Koyaanisqatsi."
I want to appeal to everyone, so my talk/write is sprinkled with current street speak, facts and a healthy dose of profanity, mostly used as punctuation and more than not, thrown in for the shock element. But always, and I mean ALWAYS appropriately.
Although, I can be totally professional and a little fucking angel...
I participate in several photography forums where I am often amazed at what people, some of them my close personal friends, type. It's a window into the way their minds actually work, or at least the way they want to be perceived. As far as that shit goes, I'm just me. Get me, love me, deal with me. Or not. I'm like Deftones covering Sade, which is playing right now, which means - they did.
Now, you want to have a completely hardcore philosophical discussion about how "The Big Lebowski" addresses every single curve thrown to us in life and can actually be used as a roadmap to salvation, then let me know.
I'm up for it.
Although I'll probably start the conversation off by saying something like, "Do you understand how much this film kicks fucking ass? Do you?"
Do you? I've watched it three times in the last 7 days.
The last "Self-Portrait" I did. #9.
More of them soon, maybe...