Life Is A Blessin', It's A Delicatessen

I was tagged by the all knowing Boz. Not too surprisingly He and I share some picks.

 
Here are the easy rules:
 
1) Pick your 10 favorite musical artists.
2) Tag the journal "top 10 bands" so we can have a full tag page of all our lists!
3) Pick 8 more people to do this! Make sure to link them to your original post.

I listen to so much music and a rather large variety. However these are the artists or groups that I always return to no matter how far or for how long I stray. Also, In the spirit of Nigel Tufnel this list goes to eleven.



In alphabetical order;


The original incarnation. An ungodly mix of blues, rock and jazz influences. Almost every speeding ticket I ever recieved was earned while listening to Live at the Filmore East. At their peak they were giants. Now, not so much but in the day and those were the days of Hendrix and Janis and The Dead etc., they were at the top of the heap.



Again, the original incarnation. The Last Waltz was intended to be just that. No group captured Americana better. Not bad for a group that is 4/5ths Canadian. Each member was a truly gifted multi-instrumentalist. At their best no one was ever better. As long as they didn't let Robbie sing.



I'm all about singer/songwriters and Vic is amongst the very best. His songs are often very beautiful in a lo-fi vein however simulaneously chock full of nasty truths about our society today. Plus he's the King of Athens Georgia. See his crown?



I know, it's a sucker pick. It's like picking The Beatles or The Stones. Well, I didn't pick either of them so get off my back. Truth is, he is the very best and is still proving it with each new album. Sure he had some off years when he produced some horrible music. I blame heroin.



Yet again, the original incarnation. I think I've said it before here, If pressed and please don't, neither of us will enjoy it much, Little Feat is probably my all time favorite band. The greatest southern rock band ever to come out of  Los Angeles. Probably the greatest contribution made to music by Frank Zappa was to kick Lowell George out of the Mothers of Invention so that he could form this band. A tighter band you will not easily find.



Another singer songwriter of the highest order.You have to get beyond the hits Short People and I Love L.A. to understand his genius. Beyond that he could have been a tremendous success based only on his work scoring films.



I guess every music list has to include a tragedy. As cliche as it may be Gram Parsons career was much too short and his contributions were not realized soon enough to save him. His influence is astounding. Without him the Stones never concieve Exile on Main Street. That alone makes him praise worthy.



I'm not sure I can explain the appeal of John Prine. He can't sing or play the guitar very well. Oh yeah, now I remember it's the songs. (are you sensing a theme here?) It's all about the songs. Plus he is one of the most entertaining live performers still amongst us. That is if are lucky enough to get a ticket. He sells out faster than you can say Sam Stone.



Hey look, Brits. I'm cheating but only slightly here. They kind of count as two since most of their recordings are done seperately and I love them both but together they are tremendous also. Linda posseses perhaps the most beautiful voice I have ever heard and is producing some of the very best English folk music ever . (and can there be too much English folk music, don't answer) Richard is a triple threat. Wonderful writing, voice and he may be the greatest living guitarist. He's remarkable.



I don't think I have listed a singer/songwriter yet have I? Okay, just seeing if you have been playing along. Townes truly equals Dylan in nearly every way except for success. Another tragic story. His excesses were many. Fortunately talent was among his excesses but it was too quickly overtaken by personal demons. Let that be a lesson to you kids.



He writes songs and he sings them. I guess that makes him a......
I would love Bill Withers even if he wasn't from just up the road from my hometown. You may not think you have heard of him but when you hear his music you'll invariably say so that's who wrote that song.
Lean On Me, Use Me Up, Ain't No Sunshine, Just The Two Of Us.... Yeah he's that guy.


I'm not sure who has or has not been tagged so I'm taking the high road and tagging anyone who wants to participate.  Jump in.

Here are the rules:

1) Only list 8 facts.
2) You must then list 8 TAGS at the end of the post. This means you must name 8 people on Buzznet who now must do the same blog.
3) Go comment on their profile and tell them to come read yours! Mark demands participation.

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

Facts

1. I am named after the Pastor who married my folks.
2. I am the youngest of three children married to the oldest of three children and we have an only child.
3. I don't drink or smoke but I cuss like a motherfucker.
4. I do drink milk but I will only drink it out of a plastic cup. I can't stand the taste of milk out of glass.
6. I have sung (before a paying audience) on stage at Carnegie Hall.
7. I used to climb telephone poles for a living.
8. Right now I have $12.14 in my pockets.

I tag 8 "d's" :  desertphreak, dustylenscap, denaliluna, dawnanthony, dvl, dlmj1972, digitalburning, deliderata

The studio where I work is a few miles north of Dalton Ga. where I live. It is just off of I-75 in the quaint little burg of Tunnel hill Ga.. Tunnel Hill is a rural community of a couple of thousand folks and one less deer.

As I pulled into our parking lot this morning I noticed, just off the road beside our mailbox, a freshly dead deer.  Okay, on further inspection, not so freshly dead but dead nonetheless.
 I was slightly saddened but these things happen from time to time so I turned my attention towards having  it removed. I was sure there was someone in charge of road kill removal of all types. I just had to figure out whom and get in touch with them.

Every year our studio, as a community service, photographs the local police force for a calendar that they distribute to the community. Local businesses can buy ads on the calendar. It's a hokie but well meaning bit of P.R. and we are happy to help out. In turn it keeps us in good standing with the local law enforcement. The Chief is a peach of a guy and is always quick to help should we need anything.

So I immediately thought to call the Chief knowing that he could steer me in the right direction and soon o'l Lucky would be off to her final resting place and would no longer be downwind of our front door.

I wasn't so lucky as to get to talk to the Chief. Instead I spoke with one of his well meaning but quite inept charges. I explained the situation and I could hear him rustling through some papers in search of codes and whatnot. His voice became much deeper in an attempt to be more officious.  Asking questions like what county quadrant and the direction of said deer in relation to the city offices and WHATNOT.

"If you'll just tell me who to call I'll be glad to ring them myself" I said. "I just wasn't sure who to..."

Before I could finished he asked,  "Have you determined a cause of death?" Before I could stop myself I said "I suspect it fell out of a tree."

Silence.

"You're not writing that down are you?" I asked.

More silence.

"If You'll call Ted at .........."

I am currently trying to form an Alvin and the Chipmunks tribute cover band.

Talent is optional but formal length turtlenecks are a must.

It would also help if you only have four fingers.

This past Saturday I went to Lowe’s. For a variety of reasons none of which include need.
a.) because it was Saturday
b.) because I live in the south
c.) because I am a male over forty (We are like a gang only for good and truth.)

As I entered the blue box there was a guy standing where the greeters occasionally stand only he wasn’t wearing the customary Lowe’s uniform. There was no blue vest or wrangler jeans or dress sneakers (black Reeboks). Instead, he was a rather nicely dressed young urbanite. Since he was staring me down pretty sharply I gave him the customary non-committal  glance and head nod. It was at this point that he asked a question I was ill prepared for.

“Would you like your spine checked?”

I understood every word individually and in the context which they were used but I still looked him dead in the eye and said “What?” So again he asks, “Would you like your spine checked?” I quickly assessed the situation and determined that he had a small table, a laptop and a ominous looking chair. A nicely padded implement of both comfort and great pain.

What I didn’t see was any kind of sign or card identifying my new best friend as either,
a.) a physician
b.) a physical therapist
c.) a massage therapist
d.) or none of the above (chiropractor)
 
I was sure that a dry crust was starting to form at the corners of my mouth as my jaw remained unhinged. My Saturday morning ritual had been altered beyond repair. Normally by now I would be well into my 22 minute segment of wandering aimlessly in the blue confines. Followed by actually remembering that I did need something which brings on stage two which involves 17 minutes of looking for that item and instead, finding quite by accident, something that I in no way need or even remotely recognize.    This, I will buy.

However, The spell was snapped and by the looks of his death chair perhaps quite literally. I searched for a kind way to let Dr. Bendo down easy. I didn’t want to just refuse his kind offer but there was no way in hell I was going to ruin a perfectly good Saturday by somehow relenting and casting myself astride his deadly snare. I now noticed an electric cord snaking its way from the chair off into the direction of the furnace filters. Nothing good can come from any of this.

Finally I spoke and all I could muster was “Sorry, I uh, left my spine at home.”  Which now that I think of it, was not entirely untrue. 

You may not find this to be as great as I did but I must share it.

One of the first people I met in Dalton when we moved here 15 years ago was Mark Pace. Mr. Pace (which he hates to be called. whenever I call him Mr. Pace he quickly says Mark M-A-R-K Mark. Like one long word, Mark M-A-R-K Mark. I Love that) is a newspaper man from way back and I mean way back. Sixty plus years ago back. He helped start the first newspaper here in Dalton literally decades upon decades ago. He and his wife Alva are quickly approaching ninety years old.

Tonight when I came home around eight o'clock Deana told me that Mr. Pace had called as she brought me the phone. I dialed him up ... oh I forgot to mention, Deana was not here when he called so he had left a message on the answering machine. The message starts Phil, this is Mark M-A-R-K Mark. Like one long word.  I belly laughed.  Anyway, I dial him up and he wants my help cleaning up an old picture for him. 
 
 Mr Pace has long retired from the newspaper business but ocassionally still writes guest columns.  The picture he wants me to clean up is of an artist who was from Dalton who painted Harry Truman's Presidential portrait. The only shot he has is from 1947 and is actually a pretty poor copy from an original news story. We shall see.

Later Mr. Pace went to work for the local  power company writing their public news letters and inter-office news letters. He retired from that job about ten years ago and a guy I worked with at the paper at the time repladced him at the power company. Only hitch in the plan is Mr. Pace has yet to leave. So the guy that replaced him is essentially his assistant. God love him.

To make a long story longer, I run over to Mark and Alva's home which is very close to ours to pick up the picture. As I pull up in front of the house Mr. Pace is standing on the front stoop half in-half out the front door waving me inside with one hand and holding the cordless phone with the other.

Mr. Pace doesn't hear so very well so he talks rather loudly.  As a result I couldn't help but hear his side of the phone conversation as I entered the house.

As best I can recall it went something like;
"How did that test go"? "That testing you had done, how'd it come out".
"Oh, very well then". "Have they cut you loose then"? ( while talking Mr. Pace is digging the picture out of a pile of papers on his dining room table.)
"What I'm getting at is we need to go out to one of these fine restaurants and have dinner".
"Alva and I and... we have all talked about doing so several times".

long pause, ...and then much quieter......  "No, Alva's allergic to cabbage".

short pause..then back to full volume......"Well, let's cook some hamburgers then, okay bye".

"How are you Phil"?  "How's your lovely family"?  "Here's what I hoping you can do if you would"....

Les and I were friends many years ago but like many friends do, we lost touch with one another. We worked together at my hometown newspaper. I as a photographer and Les as a business/lifestyles writer. If you didn't know Les you would swear he was a speedballer. He was rail thin and everything he did was quick and frantic. A hundred miles an hour and going nowhere I used to tell him to which he would reply. This job is merely a stepping stone to the "Weekly World News." 

 Many was the time that Les would hit me up at the last minute for a photo for a business story of his. "Phil, I need you to get me a shot of the new car lot opening up on the avenue. Make it sexy baby."  "Only you can do it Phil." he'd lie. When he noticed my hesitant scowl he would add, "If you'll do this for me it would be the greatest thing ever and I will salute you by placing my right hand on my left shoulder." Which he would demonstrate.  He left me shaking my head more times than I could count.

Les could name every member of every Marshall University Football team dating back to the sixties. You could mention any date in history or tell him the date of your birth and he could tell you what day of the week it fell on. He single handedly brought mud wrestling to southern West Virginia. He could wad up a piece of paper and throw it with either hand around behind his back and hit a target four out of five times.

The time came for me to move on to a paper here in Georgia and I went back to the old paper a few times and always looked up Les. I let a couple of years slip by between visits and in the interum Les moved on to, you guessed it, The Weekly World News. Eventually he rose to the position of Editor. I was a litle shocked to learn that he was actually working there until I let it soak in and really thought about it. OF COURSE he is working at The Weekly World News. It's so perfect.

Every so sften I would pick up a copy to see what he was up to. He wrote under several aliases so I was never sure what was his work. That is until BATBOY. The story goes that a half boy. half bat creature was discovered in a cave in the hills of West Virginia. When I read that I knew, without a doubt that Leskie's hand was all over that. Batboy took on a life of it's own and his exploits became wackier with every sighting.

Les, much to the surprise of many, married and even produced a couple of offspring and with that a rather sucessful and quite humorous book and  desk calendar touting the joy and trevails of fatherhood was produced.

I hadn't talked to Les in years but I tried to stay in touch with the help of Google and the other day I thought it was about time to see what he was up to since I couldn't remember the last time I had spied on his goings on. What I tragically discovered was that Les died last June of colon cancer. Oh No, Damn it I said much louder than I realized. Actually I didn't realize I had said it at all until from the kitchen Deana wondered what was the problem. I didn't answer her because I didn't hear her. She came to check on me and I still ignored her with my eyes glued to the several stories and obits on the screen before me.

Deana could see that although I was wide eyed and slack jawed, I wasn't bleeding so she left me alone.  It was unbelievable to me that the guy that I remembered so well was gone. He was so full of life and seemingly enjoyed it to the fullest. He had so much life left.  Had he lived Leskie would have been 46 last month. Barely a year older than I. Sobering.

The following is an exerpt from one of the obits and a portion of an interview Les did while editor of. the Weekly World News.

 

The "discoverer" of Batboy, Leskie J. Pinson, died recently after a lengthy bout with cancer.

As editor of the Weekly World News, a newspaper with higher credibility than The New York Times, Pinson wrote of Batboy's exploits and other stories with a wonderful sense of humor and flair.

In the obit, it described Pinson as a man who could not drive past lost dogs without stopping to help them. It also he authored the popular desk calendar "Dads: Funny and True Tales of Fatherhood," after being diagnosed with colon cancer in July 2003.

I posted about his life on my blog, The Mystery of the Haunted Vampire..

Check out the transcript from On The Media where Pinson talked about Batboy with tongue firmly planted in cheek:

BILL SLOAN: I think that the people at, at Weekly World News are really excited about this because even though Bat Boy [sic] is a made up character, it still lends an aura of respectability to the paper.
MAN: Bat Boy is not made up, according to Weekly World News managing editor Leskie Pinson.
LESKIE PINSON: Why would we want to do that? The verisimilitude of 47 pages would be thrown away if we tried to run some kind of a crazy phony story on one page, so it's not worth it for us.
BILL SLOAN: I know that's not true. I know that Bat Boy is a creation.
MAN: Cynics like Bill Sloan don't rattle Pinson. He insists that his paper's coverage of Bat Boy is very real and very expensive!
LESKIE PINSON: You know we're a little bit different than some news organizations. They say they never pay for their stories. "We would never pay for a story!" some of 'em say. We know, but hey -- when it's a big special like the space alien shaking hands with the presidential candidate or the Bat with Al Gore, we're not afraid to go sometimes 6 figures, maybe 8 figures if you count both sides of the decimal point for a photograph like that.

I salute you Les, by placing my right hand on my left shoulder.

 

...have a great and distinct beginning, middle and end. My favorite story begins: On the morning I was attacked by rhesus monkeys... and it ends: I think Coco and I are goiing to be really good friends.

I leave the middle up to your imagination.

I went back to the doctor the other day as a follow up to my blood pressure shooting through the top of my head.

They took some samplings of a couple of my precious bodily fluids and re-took my blood pressure which I was pleased to discover had come way down to just barely above normal. Well the results are in and they are generally pretty good. My cholesteral was a little high but not bad and all the other numbers were good.

They did tell me what I already knew, that it wouldn't hurt me to drop a few pounds and step up the exercise a bit. I told the nurse that I felt like my weight was not out of line for someone who is 6' 8" tall. She agreed but reminded me that I am 5' 11'' tall. So there is some work to be done on that front.

So look out Wendy May, you've got company as of today. You and I are going to have a yard sale and get rid of some clothes.

Here is a message I recieved from my e-mail provider's administrator:


This is an automatically generated Delivery Status Notification.

SMTP_Error []
I'm afraid I wasn't able to deliver your message.
This is a permanent error; I've given up. Sorry it didn't work out.

The full mail-text and header is attached!


The only thing they didn't tell me was which e-mail message this pertains to because the text and header were NOT attached.

Oh well, whoever you are, they tried. I think.

This was a crazy, busy week at work. Which is a good thing because we have been really slow. I say this only because I have been wanting to share a story with you all week but have not had a chance until now.

While we were visiting family in Virginia last week we had a rare, tragically too rare opportunity to meet up with some of our oldest friends from Maine. Scott and Heidi were in Bluefield West Virginia where Scott and I grew up visiting his folks and we were able to get together for coffee and a chat shortly before we headed back to Georgia. It was a wonderful treat and a reminder of how much we care for and miss them.

Scott and I, as I said grew up in the same town and have known each other since our junior high days. I remember him then as tremendously funny and a naturally gifted musician. Don't you just hate people like that. He's a great guy. We met Heidi post college shortly before they were married. A few years later Heido and I were work mates at a small weekly newspaper. The pay was terrible but we had wonderful fun and became good buddies. She and I had a standing Tuesday date of  lunch at my folks house and then we would sneak in a round of golf if weather permitted. It was a wonderful time.

Well, now we are on opposite ends of the Appalachian trail and are both raising young children. Scott and Heidi are blessed with wonderful twin boys. I hate that our families rarely see each other. E-mails and the occasional blog visit just aren't the same but at least we do have that.

So anyway, thanks Scott and Heidi for taking the time to see us. I'm sorry it was such a short visit but we loved seeing you both and the boys.

If the rest of you would like a peek into what wonderful people we are blessed to know, I am adding a link  to Heido's blog where she has written several wonderful essays including one featuring your's truly and our time working together. Give it a visit. 

www.heidoville.com/surfacebanana.htm

At the bottom of her blog page is a link to some photos of them and some other good stuff.

 

In perhaps the bone-head move of the century, Georgia's Govenor Sonny Perdue has closed school today and tomorrow to save fuel due to shortages. Doesn't sound like a bad idea if in fact there is a shortage.

Perdue was riding a crest of popularity with his decision to place a ceiling on gas prices to prevent gouging in the wake of Katrina. A fine idea. I applauded him. Then he went on a "Hey look what I did tour". Did I mention it is an election year?

So Friday as school was letting out Deana got the word that school would be closed Monday and Tuesday due to refinery closing in Texas. Deana is the director of Public Relations for the city school system so it was her responsibility to get the word out about the closings.

The Govenor's decision was not only questionable but couldn't have come at a more awkward time in regards to getting the word out. The official word came down as kids throughout the state were on their way home for the weekend. So much for announcing it at school. It made Deana's job infinately more difficult not to mention the fact that many of the news agencies are already on deadline when the announcement was made.

It doesn't affect my family in the same way as most because since Deana does work for the school system she is off work as well so she is able to stay home with Erin. However here at my work where several of us have younger school aged children our workforce is a little thin as parents who were not able to scramble and secure baby sitters are at home with their kids.

What exactly did Govenor Perdue think he was going to accomplish with this? Yes, he will save some money on bus fuel and energy it takes to run a school but does he think all the thousand of driving aged students are going to stay home for two days and not burn fuel in their own cars. Not to mention the parents driving their younger kids to wherever to drop them off for the day. Plus, thankfully Rita hung a right turn and spared the refineries so the whole purpose is unnecessary.

So here we are taking two snow days with temperatures in the high eighties. Which makes about as much sense as Our Govenor's plan. Also, the chance of snow today probably reflects his chances for re-election. Today at least. Nice plan Sonny.

Oh, and by the way I checked gas prices where I normally get my gas on my way into work today. Since last Friday it has actually dropped a penny.

I heard a song just now that I am familiar with but had never really HEARD before if that makes sense. It is a gentle quiet little ditty that has just now hit me like a tank.

It is called Mercy Now, written by Mary Gauthier and part of it goes as follows:



My church and my country could use a little mercy now
As they sink into a poisoned pit
That's going to take forever to climb out
They carry the weight of the faithful
Who follow them down
I love my church and country, and they could use some mercy now

Every living thing could use a little mercy now
Only the hand of grace can end the race
Towards another mushroom cloud
People in power, well
They'll do anything to keep their crown
I love life, and life itself could use some mercy now

Yeah, we all could use a little mercy now
I know we don't deserve it
But we need it anyhow
We hang in the balance
Dangle 'tween hell and hallowed ground
Every single one of us could use some mercy now

About a month ago I promised a neighbor friend and former co-worker that I would help him this weekend re-roof his house. Earlier in the week he emailed me to remind me and sent a roofing schedule of when they would be working on what days and when we should be doung what in the process. You just have to know him.

His family drove in from Oklahoma City to be with him and help. His parents and his two brothers. I got there today a little after 9am this morning and saw another neighbor friend and the family all working like bees.

I must confess that I was a lot more enthused about helping a month ago than  I was today but a promise is a promise. Like many of you I have been in a funk and a little disheartened about national events or the lack there of if you know what I mean.

Well it wasn't long until I was given a task of helping my friend's dad laying out shingles as he fired away with the nail gun. Hearing the banter back and forth between him and his three sons was quite hilarious at times and it did much to lift my spirits.

Of course eventually the conversation turned to the situation in the gulf and it quickly occured to me that they had a much better perspective on things than I did having lived through the tragedy of the Federal Building explosion in Oklahoma City. None of their family members were directly involved but there is hardly a soul, them included, in Oklahoma City who didn't know someone who's life changed forever that day due to the loss of a loved one or close friend.

We had lunch and supper together and managed to get a great deal of the roof finished. Still a little left to do tomorrow and it will be complete. It was hard, back breaking work but being around such loving folks and seeing the current events through their eyes (sorta, kinda) was very cathartic for me. It has helped to raise my spirits and has lifted my funk considerably.

It will be a long long time before things are again livable along the gulf. It will never be the same. It will remain a reminder for generations to come just as the park and monuments are in Oklahoma City are that my friends dad drives by nearly daily.

Reminders are not bad. Even tragedy can serve as a reminder of how very precious life is and that you just can't get things done, like roofs, by moping around. It takes hard work and lots of it. It takes all of us from near here in Georgia and far away in Oklahoma coming together and sweating and doing things beyond our comfort zone. New things that take some thinking and learning. That stretch us physically.

It takes all of us taking charge when our leaders have failed us and are to short sighted and idiotic to grasp the situation.

I'll get off my soapbox now. I just wanted to share my day with you. It was hard but great. I've got to go stretch out now. Those damn Okies work like Chinamen as my Pops says.

Seeing tomdog's post from his vantage point in the projection booth sparked some memories which I shared with him in a note.

He urged me to post it for everyone so with his blessing here it is.

==========Original Message==========
From: happyhobo
Date: 08/23/2005 06:29:59 AM
Subject : My days in the theatre

My high school job was at a spankin' new (in the late seventies) twin cinema in my home town in West Virginia.

They had two projectionists. a week-niter and a week-ender. The week-niter was a crusty old timer and the week-ender was a young stoner.

They were pretty much forbidden to leave the booth because the manager was a stickler for making sure that if the film went down that it had to be back up and running as close to immediately as possible. So every so often I would take them up some popcorn and a coke and hang out for a bit. (also forbidden by the manager) Most times when I would go up to see the old-timer Carl he would sneak off and leave me to it. He'd say he was going to the head but I believe he was sneaking off for a snort. He would show me where the kill switches were if something should go wrong and would be gone for what seemed like an eternity as I paced back and forth between the two projectors which seemed a quarter mile apart.

He eventually showed me how to splice reels together and load the reels but I didn't get to stick around too long at any one time to learn much. I was interested though and I wish now I would have stuck around more and paid more attention.

The guy who owned the twin also owned the Drive-In which is sadly gone now. The projectionist there was a mean bastard so I didn't hang out there much when I was pulling Drive-In duty during the summers. I do remember however that the projector there was an ancient beast that as I recall you had to feed these carbon rods into. Does that sound right? I can remember helping the bastard do that a couple of times.

It was good times though. It kept me in gas and food money and little else but the memories.

If I'm ever up your way maybe you'll give me a re-fresher course. I still make a mean bag-o-corn.


HH,

this movie theater is in a small museum near my house. I show movies on Monday nights during their summer movie series. No carbon rods in this projector but you do have to put oil in various reservoirs near the projection head. Also, if you ever need to change the bulb, you need to wear armored gloves, a protective vest, and a face shield as it can explode like a hand grenade, no kidding. I haven't had to do that though, so I feel lucky for that.. We do have a stoner head projectionist so I guess that goes with the territory.

The movie series ends in 2 weeks until next summer.

Great story though, thanks for sharing - you should post it.

=tomdog

We are back home after a great week of fun at the beach. We rested and relaxed a bunch but are now very tired. (funny about that).

Now the task of editing through over 2 gigs of photos. It's a sickness.

Anyway, great to be home and I hope to catch up with everyone and start posting some beach shots soon.

                       all the best, H.H.

I fell asleep on the couch and when I woke up T.J. Hooker was on (that might give you an indication of the hour). The sight of a more than middle aged William Shatner in a police uniform 2 sizes too small will snap you awake in a bad way.

I may not sleep again 'til tuesday.

At the risk of sounding like a Michelob ad, you know Good Friends, Good Times, Michelob ... I will lay out a little history for you. For those who care and for those who don't. I've probably lost about half of you already.

My longtime friend Todd visited us in our home this past weekend and it reminded me what a treasure truly good friends are. He has been just that for longer than we both wish to remember. The ravages of age are only now beginning to take hold.

The first time I met him was around 1989 or '90. I'm not very detail oriented so I'm not sure when. I do know I was working as a photographer in our hometown of Bluefield West Virginia and he was brought on to help with some stringer work on a big yearly special section the paper produced every year. Now it wasn't that I didn't appreciate the help but here was this kid just out of high school who looked like a stiff breeze would blow him away. His head nearly scraped the top of the door frame and he couldn't have weighed 135 lbs.

The executive Editor of the paper, a man not known for his great ideas, was introducing me to this human scarecrow as my hands dripped with fixer and I was up to my eyeballs with work trying to meet another daily deadline. I heard him tell me his name but I didn't take time to let it register. Then I heard the words I hoped I wouldn't. The Editor said "Show him around, so he can see how things work." Great, like I have time to drag this kid around while I try to do my job. Look at him. From 20 feet he's going to be in the way.

No offense to any of you who fall in this age group but at that time I was in my late 20's and like many people at that age I was convinced that I had seen it all and done it all and that anything life threw at me was not going to be a challenge and there was nothing left for me to learn. Well I'm 44 now and it still couldn't be farther from the truth. However, I was sure I was the best photographer in the world, again, I know better now, and any pearls I throw at this kid are going to be wasted.

To make a long story longer. We got through the project. Todd was a help but I wasn't about to let him know it. In the process we got to know each other a little bit better. I learned that he was a really interesting kid with a very sharp wit. We started hanging out a little bit. Sure he was a bit younger than most of my friends but we shared a love of photography and he was just learning about the business and yes he was pretty green but he was good.

He had other opportunities to help out but eventually took a full-time position with a small weekly paper and normally that would have been end of the story but we remained good friends and I had met his family who was every bit as wacky as mine. He ate many meals at my and Deana's house on Shenandoah avenue in Bluefield. We started getting up before the sun every Sunday morning and taking a short drive over to Fall's Mills Lake to fish. At some point every week we both would be in grave danger of falling into the lake from laughing so hard. I come to realize after a while that he didn't really care too much for fishing and hated getting up early but he was as faithful as a swiss watch.

Eventually we both applied for the same job with a paper in Dalton Ga. I got it and he took my position at the Bluefield paper and we said goodbye to a really great friend. We stayed in touch though and got together whenever we were in the same town. Since then I have left the news business. He enrolled in photography school and did extremely well and is now working with a large media publication in Nashville. We are as different as photographers as we are as people. He's an excellent portraitist and very technically versed. I'm more of a seat of the pants story teller. It begs the question who is the better shooter. Well the answer is obvious, we both are.

Years rolled on and we have stood shoulder to shoulder through weddings and funerals and the birth of my daughter. Her favorite Uncle is Uncle Todd and they don't share a drop of blood.

It was great for all of us to see him this past weekend. We didn't go fishing but it was very much like old times.

I wouldn't wish my yesterday on my very worst enemy. I'm not sure who that would be but whoever they are they don't deserve such abuse. The assignment sounded easy enough. Drive to Atlanta to the Apperal Mart and take about 3 or 4 shots for a rug company of some of their products. Meet Ray at the Market about  2pm and he'll tell me what to do. Sure, no problem. I would like to do it earlier but if it's gotta be 2pm, then 2pm it is. I'll probably get stuck in rush hour coming back but I'll be on the clock so who cares.

The Apparel mart comprises three city block sized buildings that are about 30 floors each. To say the least it as a HUGE place. When there is a show going on, the place is a madhouse. Well, there was a show going on even though the client, who it turns out evidently is a habitual liar, told me it didn't start until friday. This however was wednesday.

I did not have a real good understanding of what I was going to be photographing or the lighting available so I took more equipment than necessary in oder to cover all bases. This sounded lika a good idea at the time but it ended up being a nightmare.

First problem I encountered was getting into the loading dock. The place was swamp and our little company pickup truck was lost in the shuffle amongst all the large panel vans and tractor-trailors that were unloading. So It became apparent that I was going to be toting my light cases and stuff. So I go to building 3 because that is where Ray the liar told me to go and I call Ray and say I'm here in my truck downstairs but I can't off-load here. He said he would have a few guys down to street level in about fifteen minutes to help me. Okay, a small snag but workable.

So I sit in an illegal parking spot waiting on the guys and a cop- hustles me along so I call Ray the liar back and tell him I am having to move. He said the guys were down there but couldn't find me. I told him I was still outside of building 3. "Building 3?" he says. "."You need to be in building 1. We are in building 1. I tell you this."

I'm not going to argue so I swallow hard and say my mistake, okay I'll be right there. Right there from building 3 to building 1 is not an easy task in downtown Atlanta. It is a series of  loop-de loops and firery hoops or it mifght as well be. So I find the guys, appologize, and unload most of the stuff with them and then go to find a parking spot because I can't park there. Four blocks later and $20 lighter in the pocket I have the truck in a semi-safe location.

I take the remaining equipment and schlep it four blocks in mid-day Atlanta heat to catch up with the rest of the stuff and my new friends who don't understand a word of what I am saying. Nice guys, they just haven't been on American soil for a real long time.

Next order of business is a trip to the security office to get my required temporary I.D. badge. So I'm in there with a couple of my new buddies and Miss Security wants to see everybody's badge. Well one of the boys has someone elses badge. NOW WE ARE ON LOCKDOWN. Thirty minutes later, crisis averted and we are on our way upstarirs.

I meet lying ass Ray and find out that the 3 or 4 shots are now about a dozen in not one but two locations. One in building one on the 5th floor and one in building 2 on the 11th. Oh, okay, well that's new news isn't it Ray. (liar) It is now about 3:30 and I was hoping to be leaving about 4:30. Ain't gonna happen. I tell Ray (liar) that he might be in danger of turning his half day rate into a full day rate. Ray (big fat liar) says no problem. Which tells me he has no intention of paying to start with.

To make a long story longer, the other location is in the midst of a show and is packed with vendors. I politely tell Ray (big fat ass liar assman) that this might provide some problems. Ray (asshat lying man) says most of these people will be gone by 6pm. Well Ray I say, I hope to be one of them.

In the midst of all this fun is a Martini bar, free to the vendors. So pretty quickly I am surrounded by drunk vendors. Fun Fun Fun. I won't bore you with any more details other than it was a hellish day that included me toting a couple hundred pounds of equipment all over two buildings and leaving the mart about 7:00 completely exhausted and not at sure that I had one usable image.

Did I mention Ray was a liar.

 

While I'm surfing buzznet the T.V. is on the Independent Film Channel. Some documentary is on about, I really don't know what it is about.

Anyway I'm kinda half listening until some guy just said that he has proof that Crystal Meth was developed by Hitler's personal chemist.

WHAT?