Thought I’d share, hope you don’t mind.
A few more below the fold.
Thought I’d share, hope you don’t mind.
A few more below the fold.
Jane had to help open a new store up in Mt. Olive, NC the other day, and since she was to be there late that evening, the company paid for a hotel room for the night. She was kind enough to indulge my photographic nagging.
More photos of Jane from the hotel room below the fold.
I’m really enjoying the new camera. It’s a Canon EOS Rebel XS (AKA the 1000D), an entry-level digital SLR. One of the smartest things I did was to pick up an 8 GB SD card when I bought it. That sucker will hold a ton of pictures before it’s full. A few days ago I went out and about and took 664 RAW format photos, and had plenty of room to spare. I ❤ that.
I’ve been clicking away at anything that catches my eye. I’ve got a couple shots around town that I’d like to think are pretty decent. A handful of my shots of birds and other critters are pretty good, but birds seem to be my toughest targets. I’m working on it.
Mostly though, I’m enjoying taking photos of my favorite subject: Jane. I’ve easily taken a thousand photos of her in the couple weeks we’ve had the camera. Some of them she lets me share on my Facebook page. There are more … grown up… shots on my Flickr page. There are some really beautiful nudes on my hard drive. She’s not ready to let me share those with the world, though. Sorry. (I’ll let you know when she gets a little more comfortable with that!)
This morning some really bright morning sun was being reflected off the neighbor’s car window and through our bedroom window, onto the wall. It inspired me to wake up my sleeping bride, and take a mess of photos as her eyes opened. Some of them came out ok, and they’re on my Flickr page. They start with the morning light on the wall that awakened me (and hence the set is named Morning Light).
Later I talked her into, and then out of, a bathrobe. Jane Disrobes follows the Morning Light shots.
Pop on over for the two sets I took so far today, Morning Light and Jane Disrobes, and leave a comment if you see something you like, or if you have a suggestion on how to improve my pichertakin skilz. Feel free to browse around the rest of my photostream, as well. There might be something half-way decent there that catches your eye. If so, I’d love to hear about it.
From whence came the art:
I never cared for Loni. While every boy I knew went on and on about Jennifer’s tits, I was dreaming about Bailey. I did fall for Farrah, but it was a passing fancy. Pam was ok before the mega surgery I guess, and I never thought much of Dolly at all. Diana Prince had a neat secret outfit, but I lusted for Jaime Sommers. More recently, Six was nice to look at but nothing like Boomer or Starbuck. Truth is, all I needed to know about Barbie was that “Math is hard!!” She was plastic, fake, and not very bright.
These days, Carrie Prejean exemplifies everything that turns me off in a woman. Just like Barbie, she’s plastic, fake, and not very bright. I don’t find her attractive at all: not her fake smile, fake beauty-pageant breasts, fake walk, fake hand wave, or fake holiness. Not even if she keeps her idiotic, homophobic mouth shut. I’m just not interested. She’s not pretty. She’s not pretty at all.
I love real women.
(Continue reading, below the fold.)
From whence came the art:
That image is titled Jane in Gray by me ©2009, all rights reserved.
I love my wife.
That is all.
It’s funny, the connections the internet brings. Finding the little things that connect me to someone half a world away always amazes me, always brings a smile and a sense of wonder.
Now sure, there are the big connections, the grand ideas that I share with lots of people. Ideas that are large and encompassing: important, headline material upon which the future of humanity hangs.
But much more likely to bring a smile of wonder to my face are the little things, little things like a song sung on the street by an unknown street performer.
I was on Facebook a few days ago, and came across a random meme involving ‘my rock band’. The idea was that I was to use the randomize features of wikipedia, quotationspage, and Flickr to put together my fictional band’s first album cover.
I thought it a pleasant distraction, and went through all the steps. (I’ll put up the meme at the end of this post.) The image I drew through Flickr was (oddly enough) titled Flicker, by a photographer named Shahireh. Shahireh’s photostream is made up of photos from the UK and from Iran, and most of the comments left to her are in Arabic Persian of Farsi (though she speaks both Arabic Persian of Farsi and English). It made a great album cover, and I was moved to flip through her other photos. One of them, the one to the left, caught my eye.
Read on, to find out why.
In a cosmic coincidence of large enough proportion to raise the eyebrows of friends and neighbors, today is Kevin’s birthday. It’s also the birthday of the Lady at the Gate, pictured here.
She’s somewhat sexier than Kevin (no hard feelings, mate), and a little curvier in all the right places. She doesn’t blog, so I can’t give her any link love.
I thought I’d have a lot to say for this post, and have spent several weeks putting it together in the back of my head. As it turns out, It’s all just gilding the lily, and I don’t want to share it. (Some of it would have probably gotten me a divorce anyway, ’cause she’s somewhat more private than I tend to be.)
Happy Birthday, Lady. I love you, and that is all that needs be said, in the end.
From whence came the art:
So I’m speaking to my wife, and the subject of her father comes up. It’s a little touchy, understandably, so I’m gently joking a bit.
I mentioned that I re-read Thanks for All the Squirrels yesterday, and I made myself cry a little. (Ok, I did have to wipe a few tears, to be perfectly honest.)
“I’m a big sissy,” I say.
John pipes up:
“Well just because you got a dick between your legs don’t mean you can’t cry.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Dad would have been proud, I think.
I’m a coffee addict. I drink a couple pots a day, which probably isn’t terribly healthy. With that kind of (over)usage, I tend to go through coffee pots fairly quickly. Usually, I’m happy to get a year or two out of them, so I don’t bother spending a great deal of money on them.
Last year, on Mother’s Day, my $10 Sunbeam decided it had had enough, and just stared angrily at me, rather than make my damned coffee. Recalcitrant jerk. It was Sunday, it was Mother’s Day, it was 6 A Fracking M. How terribly rude and inconvenient. Fortunately, Wal-Mart is open, even on Sunday, even on Mother’s Day, even at 6 A Fracking M.
It took some time, and was somewhat later in the morning before I actually got out the door, but I came home with my very first Mother’s Day present (from myself). I decided I’d splurge, and see if I could get more life out of something more expensive. It was sleek, black, and had a cappuccino / espresso maker attached. It was awesome, and I looked forward to the occasional chokalokacappuccino mocha latte ramalamadingdong.
Sadly, by Father’s Day, the thing would take like an hour to brew a pot of coffee, and gurgled and wheezed and caused the windows to rattle and I got the occasional complaint from the neighbors. I could always tell when they had planned on sleeping late in the morning by the evil stares across the yard in the afternoon. I had brewed too early. Still, I was determined to get my fifty bucks worth, and I’ve put up with the rattling, groaning, overpriced piece of garbage for over a year now.
This morning, the neighbors are happy. They are asleep in their beds, contentedly dreaming of JanieBelle and Kate and Lilith and Lucifer, whilst I sit here writing nonsense, enjoying freshly and quietly brewed joe. Little John, his own father now a permanent resident of California, surprised me with a beautiful white cheapo coffee pot for Father’s Day, and I love it dearly already.
But this Father’s Day brings me strange and sad news already as well.
(Continued below the fold)
In the shade. Not a cloud in the sky.
Brutal to be at my son’s block party at school, but sometimes, a Dad’s job is never done…
My wife and I went and volunteered to chaperon. We lasted about an hour and a half, and fortunately, they were sending the kids back inside early because of the heat. I don’t think I could have taken much more.
I like it hot, but this was withering, without a sea breeze.
Got home and Shakespeare needed to go out. I took him out, he did his thing, he said out loud, “Dude. Fuck this.” He’s lying on the cool carpet under my desk.
I’m just going to cool off with Shakespeare under the desk for the rest of the day. The lawn needs mowing, but I just don’t care right now.
I needed some pain meds yesterday, after being four hours on my feet in the morning. The last three days, I’d been proctoring for the middle school End of Grade exams, so for the first time since I injured my neck, I’d been on my feet for an extended period without a break. Yesterday was the last day, so once I’d gotten the kids home from school I took a couple of muscle relaxers. I thought about the pain killer but decided to skip it. I haven’t had one in a while and didn’t want to get started taking them again. It’s a very addictive narcotic, and it makes my head all fuzzy.
The muscle relaxers kicked in and I crashed out about six last night. I slept straight through to 3AM, woke up for about an hour, and went back to sleep.
I awoke from the nightmare a few minutes ago. It started out pretty good, though. I was a new teacher and a group of really old black men with silver hair were teaching me to play the saxophone in the teachers’ lounge (which was outside on the deck in the forest, ’cause that’s where teachers’ lounges always go, right?). I stepped away for a moment to talk to my wife, and when I got back, the table, the men, and the sax were all missing.
It must have been late fall, because the ground was covered in orange leaves and the trees were bare. My wife and I went looking for the sax in the forest. I found it at the bottom of a little dry creek bed, caught in the top of a fallen tree. When I climbed into the thick tangle of branches to get it, I suddenly found that the tree was not a fallen one at the bottom of a creek bed, but a standing one at the tip of a long, skinny spit of land overlooking a deep gorge, and it was swaying (with me in it) out over the chasm. I shifted my weight a little when it swayed backwards toward the safe ground, and got it to crack and fall, dropping on top of me as I hit the ground.
It’s an intricate business, writing an obituary. My father-in-law left for California last week, but not before he passed on some priceless wisdom. I’ve been honored to write the obituaries to be read at both Mom and Dad’s funeral, but there’s only so much that can be stuffed into an obituary. There’s so much about a person that just won’t fit. There are so many lessons and stories that can’t be easily compressed into a two minute reading, and those lessons and stories are much too valuable to be lost. Things like how Dad taught me to hunt squirrels out on the back forty (which was more like the back seventy-two plus the adjoining properties). And like squirrel hunting, there’s a bit of an art to it.
Y’see, you can’t just pick up a shotgun and walk out into the woods and expect to come home with a bag full of squirrels. You have to know what you’re looking for, where you’re going and how to get there. You have to know what to take along, what to leave behind – what’s safe to ignore, and what can kill you.
The first thing you do is scope the territory out ahead of time. You have to know where you’re going, and where you’re going is wherever the squirrels are.
She spent the night in the hospital, Kay stayed with her. I’m beginning to hate that place.
Tests have all come back fine. That’s kind of scary in itself.
I’m off to the hospital.
From whence came the art:
Y’know Kevin has dedicated an entire blog to his Redhead. I’ve kind of avoided talking about my wife, mostly because she knows where I keep the framing hammer, and she’s not afraid to use it (on me).
But this I had to share.
She is TEH SEXAY HAWT!!!!
(Disclaimer: I already know what I’m getting for Christmas, so this post is not in any way an attempt to suck up. Just so y’know.)
Yes, I realize I’ve not posted about the end of the football season, and I’ll get to that. I’m actually working on some highlight video to accompany that post, and don’t have all the source material yet…In the meantime…
Crap. Crap, crap, CRAP!
Y’know what sucks? Y’know what really makes my blood boil?
Ok, so my wife usually watches the idiot box in the living room, and I in the bedroom. Mostly that’s just a case of we don’t usually enjoy the same type of programming. I’m not into ChickTV, which involves mostly men cheating on their wives and trying to kill them but somebody gets terminal cancer and everybody copes. Does nothing for me. She on the other hand, is not into spaceships blowing up hideous aliens who attempt to impregnate humans by sticking large slimy tentacles down their throats and then feeding on their dismembered carcasses. I don’t understand how that doesn’t thrill her, but I suffer in silence.
Problem: The living room TV has been on its last legs for well over a year now, the picture degrading to the point where reading the TVGuide thing or the score of the football game you are attempting to watch was an exercise in futility. The colors became redder and redder, bleeding one into the other to the point where the picture had become little more than an extreme close up of some orangy-red gelatinous substance.
Solution: Christmas is coming up, and well, duh.
(Continued below the fold.)
I just thought you’d like to know what’s been going on in the FCD family.
I meant to point this out, but it was during the hiatus so I forgot. I’m blaming age and the pain meds as my cop-out.
Each year without fail, my wife and daughter participate in the local Relay For Life. It’s a 24 hour walk-a-thon to raise money for the American Cancer Society.
The Jacksonville Daily News spoke to Kayla for their feature article on the Relay this year.
Kayla was devastated when her grandmother was diagnosed with cancer in 2003. Kayla, a White Oak High School sophomore who was in middle school at the time, remembers trying to stay strong. She couldn’t see her grandma often because of the distance. Kayla lived in Pennsylvania, her grandmother lived in Kentucky. And soon after the diagnosis, Kayla and her family moved to Jacksonville.
I’m very proud of my daughter for taking time out of her very busy teenage life to participate each year. I’m glad she’s trying to be part of the solution.
In response to this post at the Denialism Blog,
If I may, please allow me to share a warm fuzzy divorce story…
I met a lovely young lady just before Halloween in 1987. We got along famously, and we were married before Thanksgiving. Probably not the brightest idea I’ve ever had I admit, but I was twenty and twenty year old boys aren’t always very wise.
Nevertheless, we did OK, and had a little girl in ’91 and a little boy in ’94. By the time he was a few months old, we were constantly fighting, and all miserable.
We split in April of ’95, and agreed not to fight any more over the past for the kids’ sake. Anytime the conversation steered toward the sore spots, one of us managed to steer it away. It wasn’t always easy.
We turned out to be much better friends than we were husband and wife, and by the time our divorce hearing came up, we had settled everything ourselves and showed up at the courthouse sans attorneys and holding hands.
The magistrate saw our hesitation as we pondered the plaintiff’s and defendant’s tables and helped, “You can sit together, if you want.”
She asked us a bunch of questions about our marriage, and about why we wanted to get a divorce, and when we were done, just before she banged the gavel she said to us, “Y’know, I’ve been doing this for 30 years, and you’re the first two adults I’ve ever divorced.”
Anyways, long ’bout ’02 we decided we kinda liked each other and she (the ex-wife, not the magistrate…just to clarify) and the kids moved in with me. Now we’re approaching our second anniversary of our second marriage to each other, and I gotta tell ya’- divorce was the best thing we ever did for each other or for the kids, statistics be damned.
Anecdotal and scientifically irrelevant, but it worked for us.
Divorce rocks. Ask my kids.