Montly archives
Just doing it
Today I stumbled on this guy's musings about photography [link]. In it he says:
So, um, hi. My name is Margaret and I take photographs because I think they're pretty (although, it's downright debatable how "fine-art" my photography is). Without actually posting any of the 18 other paragraphs just written and promptly deleted, I'm going to not only endorse, but encourage, this behavior. I mean, how else are ya gonna learn?
My friendly advice for the day: do something you love for no logical reason.
You'll sleep better for it.
My charmed life
I won't go so far as to name any names... but for all you bitches who make fun of me for being in to the show 'Charmed', suck it.
Suck it long, and suck it hard.
Season 4 came out on DVD Tuesday, and when I went to pick it up over lunch today Target gave me a $10 DOLLAR GIFT CARD at the checkout!! (A pretty one with a kitty on the front too!)
How do you like your stupid 'Lost' now? Huh? HUH?!
Reader, my humility. Humility, all my readers. Have the 2 of you met?
Clearly I turn multiple shades of fierce when it comes to certain things *cough*. This list includes but is not limited to:
- how I feel about Charmed
- who's allowed to touch, nay look, at my personal computer
- how I feel about leaving glasses of water around the house (I do this. A lot. And it is good.)
- how I feel about baristas attaching the lid of my coffee cup so the opening is RIGHT on the seam (just... don't)
- flickr's "design"
- my lifelong desire to go skinny dipping
Included in this list is how I feel about playing games. How much do I love it? I *FUCKING* love it, almost as much as I *FUCKING* love getting foot massages. Card games, video games, board games, you name it and I'm totally there. The only real negative to my insatiable love for the competitive is that I *HATE* losing. Boy oh boy do I hate losing. Let's just say it's good for my mental health that my skill level is higher than the norm when it comes to these mental gymnastics (Grand Master World Champion MarioKart 64™ title-holder 7 years and running, Duke Nukum 3-D phenom, No One Lives Forever 2 girl wonder, and I can hold my own when it comes to Scrabble) or I'd be probably be one of those people spending 14 hours a day in World of Warcraft getting a life.
Basically every game comes down to strategy. For me everything (and I mean EVERYTHING) deconstructs to patterns, mathematical equations, quickly sussing out and exploiting weaknesses, but mostly just puzzling out the most efficient route to victory... whatever the cost. If I could mathematically chart the electrical drama playing out in my brain, this performance would read like Fibonacci's Book of Calculation. Beautiful and elegant in every way... aaaaand completely indecipherable to most everyone, including myself.
Last night I played 5 and a ½ hours of Rummy 500. Five. And a half. HOURS. But the most interesting thing about 5 ½ hours of card playing is not that I'm constantly winning (*yawn*), it's that it's nothing at all like 5 ½ hours of video game playing. You can be dirt tired, eyes half open, moving your little thumbs around a console controller in complete darkness at 4 in the morning and still winning, but not so much in a game where you're physically interacting with another human being. What's my biggest weakness when it comes to playing cards? Definitely not my transparent poker-face (cuz that's usually true), it's that when I'm tired I am *FUCKING* tired.
Fatigue people.
My mental threshold can only take so much before I physically collapse on the floor in a heap of numbers and strategy and strings and suits and equations and a mental catalogue of everything in my opponent's hand and a mental catalogue of everything that's happened in the game up until the point when I'm on my back with my eyes closed waiting for the opponent to fucking take their god damned turn already. Shit. I am only one person and can only win so many times before I'm completely wiped (and not to mention bored with winning all the god damned time).
Let's just say it's a good thing my record is 6-2 8-2 or I wouldn't be forming complete sentences today. That's right bitches, when it comes to Rummy 500 you can suck it long and suck it hard. I am the queen and I will school you. And when you lose I will happily take payment on the foot massage within 24 hours of said victory... just in case there was any confusion and you were thinking of fleeing the state before paying up. I mean, I'm just sayin'.
That is all.
[Oops, now it looks like I'm 8-2.]
Before the internet, who were you?
One thing I don't know I'll ever get used to is being introduced as my website.
Friend: "Hi, this is Margaret. Have the two of you met?"
Drunk stranger at random bar: ... blank stare ...
Friend: "You know, sopheava.com."
Drunk stranger at random bar: "Ohhhhhh, yeah! I know you. Nice to meet you finally. Hey, nice photographs. *wink* Heh."
If I had known my identity would become my stupid website A) I wouldn't have sworn so much over the years, and B) I would have chosen a cooler domain name, something much cooler than "sopheava". If for the reasons that people would know how to pronounce it and would stop asking me what it means all the freakin' time, it would have been worth it. Still, there's only one sopheava and THAT'S ME! (Don't forget I am Ubershique too. She's much prettier and has better taste in color palettes anyway.)
That internet man, it's a powerful thing.
Actually, being known as your website is kinda like when you walk in to the coffee shop and they say, "Morning grande latte girl!"
Pretty much the same in my mind, anyway.
Feel good time
Three more reasons I believe an alien intelligence has hijacked my body and forced me to do geeky things beyond the scope of any previously exhibited geeky behavior.
Damn you Threadless! DAMN YOUUUUU!!!
Shit. Well? I guess I can stick them next to my "I'm blogging this" tee. Which, by the way, was not my fault either. That was was a gift and TOTALLY NOT MY FAULT.
I'd also like to take this opportunity to renounce all responsibility for being the person who thought it was a good idea to spend her Friday evening at the fabric store buying large reams of black and white fabric. Because clearly someone as cool as me wouldn't do such a thing. At least, not without doing 6 lines of coke, finishing off a bottle of tequilla, and hitching a ride to said store on the back of my sex-ring leader's motorcycle first.
Ha ha ha. Just kidding.
It wasn't a motorcycle it was an El Camino.
So, uh, anyone wanna come over for portraits? Ha ha ha, yeah. I guess I'll just stick to self-portraits for the mo'.
I'm thinking about putting bail money in my shoe just in case
Charlotte Martin is playing a show tonight. Like, as in, here. In Minneapolis.
*Someone hold me.*
I can't remember when I first got in to her music, but she's definitely on my Top 5 Fave Artists of All Time List. This is a little bit of heaven for me, and if I can somehow manage to find all the pieces of my head which conveniently exploded upon reading she'd be here tonight I'm definitely gonna be there. I don't do shows often but the ones I do make an effort to grace with my presence are mind-numbingly stellar.
(Okay yeah, there was that one New Kids on the Block concert. But that doesn't count cuz A) I didn't like them, B) I won the tickets and had to go - the alternative was to face decapitation from BFF Shea, and C) I was also TWELVE.)
(Oh. Yup, there was that Steppenwolf concert at Bratwurst Days that one summer too. But that wasn't my fault either, cuz, it just wasn't. My boyfriend at the time made me go, and if you blame anyone you should blame him. He deserves it anyway.)
(And then there was the time he made me go to Steppenwolf at Summerfest too. Same summer, I think. We couldn't go see someone cool like Coolio playing the main stage. No. We had to see Steppenwolf. Again.)
So other than that Kiss show we're not going to talk about either, the only real show I've seen is Tori Amos. And if I ever meet that bitch I'm gonna kick her in the shins for making me cry and proceed to throw myself across her feet and beg for forgiveness. God I love her work. I don't have many "favorite" favorites, but she has safely claimed the Numero Uno spot on my All Time Favorite Musicians list.
Poor Charlotte, I digress. I love her too. And you know what's great about Charlotte? She loves Tori as much as me! So, like, we totally have that in common. Her hair is also kinda sorta blonde, LIKE MINE!, and she's also mentally stable and completely normal and sane in every way imaginable JUST! LIKE! ME!
I also think I'm going to bring my camera. *gulp* I've weighed the pros and cons with my fellow geeky photographer type friend and he assures me it'll not only be worth it but that no one will try to take it away or anything. Or! Anything! I'm also hopeful that even in the off-chance someone does try to take away my camera, I'll be escorted backstage where Charlotte and I can proceed to hang.
And then she'll say, "Give the nice girl with hair just like mine her camera back." And I'll say, "Ummm. Uh. Can I like take your picture?" And she'll say, "I thought you'd never ask!" And then we'll make friendship bracelets and braid each other's hair.
I'm stoked.
The funnest cookie party you'll ever go to
Channeling Matt for a mere moment, I'd like to take this opportunity to invite each and every one of your esteemed selves, O Mighty Snarkatrons, for feedback. Yes indeedy. In what might go down as evidence of the most monumentally misjudged decisions on my part to post this invitation, I'm setting a very public stage for the largest number of smart-mouthed smartasses I've ever known to get their groove on.
(That was a compliment, just so you know.)
So here's the situation. I'm working on a.... pet project. The point of said pet project is to select a dozen of my best photographs and print them out on 8x12" paper. Your mission (should you choose to accept): help me decide which photographs to print.
This whole exercise is like an episode of Fear Factor to an indecisive Libra (that's me!). Sounds easy right? Not after we get done COMPLICATING THINGS! (Oww my head.)
- You may choose up to 6 (plus or minus) photographs.
- From anything you've seen on my photoblog.
- Okay, almost anything. The number of selections with *me* in them must not exceed one. Translated? Try not to pick any of my self-portraits unless they're an absolute casuality and the future of the world depends on my appearance in what might in fact be the last photograph physically documented in this 3-dimensional cosmic journey we share, aka life. One, that's all ya'get.
- The number of black and white shots must not exceed 50% of your final selections. Let color be your friend.
- Keep in mind that what works well on the web might not work well in print. So, uh, try to imagine these hanging in your living room or something.
- You've got about 36 hours to make your selections, the clock starting NOW.
You can leave your list of shots in the comments below, or if you're a privacy-seeking super stalking type feel free to use this handy dandy super nifty contact form for all your stalking needs. Ha ha ha yeah. The rest of you know where to email me.
Everyone who plays along gets a cookie. Or a puppy. You know, whatever your preference.
Annnnnd, go.
(And thank you! xxx)
Not quite at 42 yet... it's more like solid 36
Yowsers, thanks for the nice showing so far. I thought maybe I could get one or two of you to respond and I had the snarky response for that one person's smart-mouthed comment all planned out and ready to fire. Thankfully all my Kool-with-a-capital-K readers have stepped up and run interference on his attempted mis-deeds. Awesome.
Sadly, we're still struggling to find a footing with this whole exercise. I thought that by limiting your selections to 6 (out of 400) that the Wisdom of The Crowds would decide to stop by, have some scotch, and kick it like a gangsta. So, um, yeah. That hasn't so much happened yet. But you have until later this weekend to help a girl out (how's that for vague?). Submit thy selections, o readers of mine.
Cookies, puppies, and scotch with Wisdom will be yours to claim beginning Wednesday. I'll bring the camera.
Furthermore...
- It warms my heart that everyone has been so eager to participate without actually further interrogating me about the source of the unusual query. Then again there's furry and edible treats involved so maybe I'm just overlooking the obvious. Wait, furry *AND* edible?
- Geeky programming internet types are the ones emailing me and asking, "Um, could you, uh, fix the comment I just posted? I think I broke something." Fucking programmers.
- Shea has an admirer!
- I can't be sure, but I think Josh called me a 'Ho'.
- Steve is permanently disqualified from all my fun games. NO PUPPIES FOR YOU!
In the meantime I've been fielding questions about the Charlotte Martin concert. This is good because this means I just get to blab about it publically early next week. Goodness knows if there's anything I love more than blabbing, it's blabbing about something I took pictures of and doing it publically. The first photo was posted last night, so check it out.
I'm getting ahead of myself. Thanks for all the fish and see you on the flipside.
P3wNed
This just kills me [link].
Clearly someone at UPS needs a hug.
Thank goodness I bought all those books yesterday
I woke up this morning, took a look outside, and giggled out loud a little cuz all that snow they were talking about showing up was basically a bunch of hoo-ha. Then I yawned and took a shower.
(This is a good story so far, isn't it?)
I then proceeded to get dressed and open up the blinds only to be confronted with this:
I'm not sure how all of THAT managed to flatten Minneapolis within 45 minutes, but just in case you need a little reminder this is what I'm supposed to see from my living room window:
For the first time ever, I'M SNOWED IN! As in, like, I can't get to work today. Ha ha ha, suckers. All my friends who walk to work and make fun of me for driving out to the burbs for work everyday aren't laughing from their cubes this morning I guaran-darn-tee it. Neither are all the people I saw sitting in traffic when I walked to the coffee shop around the corner for my daily fix. This actually turned out to be a good thing cuz I had *no* idea so many hotties frequented that coffee shop. Yow! Um, yeah. I'll be going back there, well, a lot from now on. Snow days are all cool 'n stuff.
In other news, yesterday I got a bunch of my photographs printed up thanks to all your help. Sure it was all fun and games, but then I went back to pick them up and was confronted with a big, burly, shaved-head manager who proceeded to tell me he couldn't give me my prints until I signed a release form. Why would he do something like this? Oh right, that would be because... how did he put it, "These photographs are borderline... questionable. They're too professional looking to be yours so we need you to sign this release saying they *are* in fact yours. This is really standard stuff so we don't get sued by the person they might belong to - and if they are yours, then you can just sign it and have nothing to worry about."
You know what's so funny about all this? I was *IN* 2 of the 12 photographs I had printed!! Honestly I don't know whether I'm flattered or offeneded by the whole encounter... but something just kinda feels wrong about having to defend my own photos to a complete stranger.
I'm gonna go crawl back into my cozy, warm bed with a book now because, I CAN! Ha ha. Have fun at work today ya'll.
EDITED: Ah yes, the final selections:
- Drive-by Clowning
- Minneapolis Skyline
- Tube Station
- Pigeons in Trafalgar Square
- Gamla Stan
- A Mickey's Regular
- So Much Confusion
- Mystery Man
- Gold Medal Flour
- Sunset
- Trains
- Prairie Ho (although they splotched this one up and I ended up binning it)
Pfew! Thank goodness there aren't any photos of when I was 12, gangly, oppressed by braces, and permed is all I'm sayin'. Er... wait...
Not the best day for me to have a case of the giggles (which I do). Not only is Jenny my newest favorite in-law, but she should also win some award for "Most Creative Use of a Scanner".
Let me introduce you to my brother, "Sir Thinks-He's-In-Dokken".
Yes siree. That's my big bro and that's my big bro's permed mullet circa 1991. Ha ha ha {gasp} ha ha ha. If I were truly cruel (which I am) I'd go home tonight and dig out the photo of my gangly, 8th grade self putting his mullet in to a ponytail for him.
Because, uh, ponytails are really hard 'n stuff. Just ask my big brother!
Just look how his cute little baby-girl curls lay against that perfect shade of blue polo (which match his eyes) (I'm also pretty sure that shirt was part of his uniform in Catholic high school).
Oh man, I'm just killing myself today.
Prescisely the reason I paid the big bucks for a college education
Clearly some of us have wayyyyyyy too much time on our hands. And by 'us' I mean Josh and definitely not me. Because I'm here at work. Busy. Working. Obviously.
Dood needs a 1 million piece puzzle to keep his time occupied is all I'm sayin'. So, um, Josh? Don't be surprised when your Christmas present shows up a bit early and it ends up being a 1 million piece puzzle of me. Can you think of anything more fun? Or amusing? Or pretty to look at?
Don't mind me, I'm just jealous that he lives THERE, in mutherfuckingparadise, while I'm stuck ranting behind the cover of a Dell monitor in St. Louis Park. Minnesota.
...
Let me just add, in conclusion, that eventhough he's probably been to the beach at least twice today *I* get to go out with 2 dozen of my closest pals tonight, get stinkin' drunk, and then stumble home to my warm, not to mention cozy, flannel sheet adorned bed before waking up to RUNNING! WATER! Let's see you pull *that* shit off in paradise is all I'm sayin'.
Running water trumps plastic cup with holes punched in the bottom every time. (He really does this. A lot. I saw the video. Er, wait.)
Do it yourself phuntography
It's nice to know I'm out-geeked. Check it, yo.
His setup makes my black swag look homely.
Actually, I've had a few people ask me how I jimmy'd up the black/white background so I figured I might as well pass along Sophie's Secret to Spine-Tingling Swag Goodness (thank god I'm not passing on my secrets for alliterating, cuz that needs a little work).
Step 1: Convince yourself there's nothing better you could be doing with your Friday evening. Nothing. Nothing at all.
Step 2: Head to your local fabric store and pick up a little somethin' somethin' in the color(s) of your choice. Old bedsheets will work too, just make sure they're cleanish. For my setup I bought fabric that was 180cm by 5 yards.
Step 3: Buy yourself something nice on the way home. You deserve it.
Step 4: You might want to pick up some clips like these while you're at it. This is how I hung mine from the living room wall because A) it was easy, B) I had a bunch of them laying around, and C) it won't damage your fabric. It also makes for changing out colors as easy as slurping down a Hurricane in the middle of summer.
Step 5: Call all your friends and invite them over to observe how many ways in which you rock. When you get them in the front door knock 'em over the head with something blunt, prop 'em up in front of your new background, and then take their picture until consciousness starts settling in. Have some liquor readily available - makes for a fun party game!
Alternatively, you could just take a bunch of pictures of yourself in various states of undress.
Have fun!
($10 bucks says DeRusha's the first to post his own home studio'd photos. Anyone wanna take me up on that?)
My version of the circle of life
My Cousin: I'm so excited to be visiting Minneapolis this weekend! Do you want to get together after your hair cut on Saturday?
Me: Um, wait a second.
My Cousin: What?
Me: I'm not getting my hair 'cut', I'm getting my hair 'done' and there's a huge difference.
My Cousin: ... Huh?
Me: *rolling my eyes* The difference is about $200 dollars and 3 hours.
My Cousin: Oh. I think I now understand.
He's never been a single, 28 year old female with hair down to the middle of her back before, clearly.
Tom Cruise is twelve
In case you haven't heard, South Park shelved a recent episode because apparently Tom Cruise refused to do promos for Mission Impossible 3, stomped his feet, and then told the teacher South Park was being a bunch of poo-poo heads for making fun of Scientology and closets.
Thank god for YouTube is all I'm saying. Go watch, laugh, and make fun of the weird kid stomping his feet in the corner. Then, give him a hug. Even body-snatching thetans need to be loved too. [link]
Photoblogiversary, Year One
Look who's all growed up!
My silly little photoblog turned 1 year old over the weekend. To celebrate I got drunk, took photos of Minneapolis, and then turned the camera around on myself before passing out with my Nikon D70 around my neck, my Speedlight flash in one hand, and the camera remote in the other.
No I didn't, but the getting drunk and passing out part is kinda mostly true.
The funniest part about the photoblog is that I started it, mostly, on a whim. I mean, I wanted to become a *better* photographer but better in my mind meant taking photographs while sober, in the daylight, and not just when out for a night on the town with a bunch of crazies (I seriously have more photographs of my friends molesting the bronzed Mary Tyler Moore statue downtown than any one person should have in her collection). So other than wanting to become a quote "better" photographer my only goal was to keep the site up for 365 days. Now that those days have passed I can't imagine life without my pretty little Sopheava de Lumiere. Besides, my bank account might have something to say about shutting it down after all the god d#$*&!ed money spent on camera stuff the past year.
No seriously, I did *NOT* see that one coming.
I'm happy to report the photoblog isn't going anywhere, at least for a little while. And just so everyone knows I'm always in the need for new photographs. So in case there's someone reading this who wants to spring for a trip to... oh I don't know, someplace like, say, Paris... then I'm happy to accomodate. I just want to please my readers is all!
Happy first birthday Sopheava de Lumiere!
I bet her slippers really *were* cute
Yesterday morning I came in to work, did a little reading on CityPages.com, and was generally minding my own business when this article jumped off my monitor and almost almost throttled me between sips of a sweet, sweet morning latte. [link]
After breaking out with a mild case of hives and nearly spitting hot latte out my nose, I re-read some of the more interesting bits of the article before promptly forwarding the link to every single male friend I know. The subject of my email went something like this, "HOW NOT TO PICK UP A WOMAN - otherwise entitlted - HOW TO GET SLAPPED WITH A RESTRAINING ORDER... or worse." I'm not 46 and my name is not Denise, yet I still fear for my safety. Guys like this actually live in the same city as me? But... how, I mean why... ??? I'm telling ya, this dating thing should have its own color-coded warning label and be slapped on the forehead of every single guy in town. You'd think the human race (or Google) could figure out a more streamlined process for the ritualistic mating habits of those who consume oxygen, especially after landing people on the moon. But here am, proved wrong yet again.
Speaking of dropping off people on the moon... someone get this guy a helmet.
Alright alright alright, maybe I'm being a bit harsh. The 8-year old in me would have said, "Awww, that's the most romantic thing I've ever heard since the last time I watched The Princess Bride. Love at first sight, hugs, kisses, flowers, and DANCING! Isn't it all so romantic? Dude can't go on without her. *sigh* I want one of those someday!"
The pragmatic 28-year old in me wants to find Denise, give her a hug, and then put my poor, naive, little 8-year old Margaret self out of her misery with a big, fluffy pillow and some Lithium. We've all been there so don't shake your head feigning disbelief at me. You're out with your friends, it's a special occasion, you toss back one too many Margaritas... tra la la... and before you know it you're line-dancing on the bar with some schmuck who's 4 inches too short and smells like old tweed and Old Spice. But, ya'know? It's all good. The next day a big, fat case of temporary insanity is understood between all parties involved and, AND!, better yet the alcohol can be counted on to erase virtually all memories from the night before. These things happen and that's okay.
But this tool has freagin' gone off the deep end needs that bottle of Lithium more than 8-year old Margaret does.
So, he lived with his mom. All other things aside the logician in me says, um, how are you gonna bring someone home after a late night out? It's just, you don't, No.
Second, he had never been intimate with anybody? Here I thought *I* had commitment issues.
Third, I hope the chick from The Gilmore Girls contacted her lawyer 10 minutes ago. There's a new breed of stalker in town, he thinks he's a clever poet, and he's armed with a cell phone and an internet connection.
Fourth, he gave her his business card and she told him she had a boyfriend. So, um, what about that wasn't clear again?
Fifth, I've decided tattoo artists have probably seen it all. Someone get those guys a book deal.
Sixth, after running ads in the City Pages for two years and spending $1500 bling, how do you get to sleep at night? No really, do you think he's a robot or something? If he was a robot we could call this whole thing an episode of Punk'd and call it a day.
Seventh, the first sign that you are in fact a stalker is when you tell everyone within shouting distance that you're not a stalker. The second sign? Buying a stuffed animal holding a heart (anyone else see SNL's view on the matter?).
Eigth, I can't believe I'm still enumerating. What the fuck?
Nineth, if your name is Kevin and you show up at my next photowalk, I recommend spending some seriously serious time considering how you will appropriate every piece of protective hockey gear you've ever owned to your respective body parts. Cuz damn.
Classified
In what has to be the most unexpected, surreal, and KICK ASS! twists of sopheava.com's life to date, I think my blog(s) just somehow got me my dream job. Unless you've been living in a tattoo parlor and getting the name "Denise" burned on your left bicep, you know I ardently steer clear of any discussion about A) my love life or B) my job. So excuse me for one second while I publically allow my head to explode cuz HOLY SHIT I HAVE A NEW JOB!!! and it's a real, real good one lol omg wtf 11oneone1.
This is the part where I start stuttering and shuffling my feet because I really want to tell you about the job (boy oh boy do I ever), yet there are clearly lines that need to be kept in check regardless of what a bribe in the form of a small, fluffy, kittenie smelling kitten would do to sway that decision. So... uh, how about FAQ style?
Excellent.
What's the job, yo?
Official title is something like "Kick-Ass Web Designing Diva", which is a marked improvement from my current designation as, just, "Web Designer". Thank god they didn't hire a man or some poor guy in Minneapolis would be the one shuffling his feet and stuttering everytime someone asked him what he did for a living.
What are you gonna be doing?
Kick-ass, web designing diva stuff with a small group of uber-talented creative types who speak the same geeky language I do. I loved the part when they said, "We're so glad we brought you in for the interview... cuz there's so much more to you than what we see on your websites." Ha, that's actually true - my hair is much prettier in person.
What does having a blog have to do with anything?
Good question, but basically I think the powers that be first heard about me through this blog. I mean, clearly they didn't hire me for my articulate writing, um, 'n stuff, but I guess it just paid to have a big mouth and an affinity for pink (take that, old and tired blue!). Okay honestly? My blog didn't have that much to do with it but the fact they didn't run, hide, or hold candlelight vigils for my soul after reading some of the stuff that comes out of my mouth (or from the memory card in my camera, for that matter) has gotta count for something.
Where is the job?
Downtown baby. My glutes already thank me for the walk clear across the city.
What else can you tell us?
I have this ONE eyelash that grows longer than all the rest. No seriously, it's really weird when you have to ritualistically trim your one freakishly long eyelash every month.
That about does it for your yearly dose of, "Things Margaret Doesn't Talk About, Ever, At Least Not Without Shiny Bribes Or The Kind Of Bribe That Meows." We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.
Keeping the photowalk talk flowing
Looks like DeRusha's been up to his old tricks and is at it yet again, this time setting off a bomb over on MNspeak when he used the words "lap dance", "Margaret", and "photographs" in the same thread. Um, yeah. Allll of a sudden every man within a 20 hour drive is wondering when the next Minneapolis photowalk is gonna be, and if a camera is absolutely, without question, necessary for participation in said event.
Before Hello! magazine gets on the wagon and tries to scoop DeRusha's own scoop, it seemed only fair you find out what's what from the Mistress of Minneapolis Missions herself.
+ Yes, there's going to be another photowalk.
+ No, there won't be any frottage.
+ Yes, there will be cameras involved.
+ No, it won't be sponsored by DeRusha.
+ Yes, this dirty snow thing is old and tired.
+ No, I can't find corporate sponsorship for a European photowalk.
+ Yes, anyone can participate.
+ Well, no you can't participate if you're a stalker or homicidal maniac.
+ I'm tentatively planning for early May.
+ Uptown is a possible destination. Although when polled, 9 out of 10 inquiring minds agreed they don't want to get shot in the head.
+ Location suggestions are welcome.
Stay tuned. I'll post more info both here and in the Twin Cities flickr group when I get around to feeling like it.
Hypothetical question
Let's say someone offered you $500,000 dollars to get engaged before you turn 30 years old.
Fact 1) You're currently 28½ years old.
Fact 2) You're currently single.
Fact 3) You're absolutely allowed to break off the engagement the day after your birthday.
Fact 4) Your long, wavy hair is an unnaturally beautiful amalgamation of blondes, reds, and warm honey browns.
Would you do it just to get the money?
And more importantly, wouldn't you wonder why your friend would offer such an agreeable arrangement when he stands to gain nothing by it?
I'm skeptical. (Uh, hypothetically speaking of course.)
Out of the mouths of drunken ex-coworkers
I take offense to someone recently calling my tattoo a "tramp stamp".
It looks nothing like a stamp.
Mama to-be
This live streaming-video of a eagle mama-to-be is totally captivating. I mean, basically she's just hanging out on the nest all day with a bag of cheetos and some Days on the tube. [link]
I dare you not to go back later to check up on her.
Now. If only that were a camera pointed at a basket of kittens... or puppies...
Another reason I'm single
I need to just go ahead and implement a remaindered links area, a dashboard, a longboard, a whatever-you-wanna-call-it already so I have a dedicated spot to post more junk must-have links.
This time, the link hitting close to home (sadly, I've actually been called out on doing stuff like this... more than I care to admit).
I won't tolerate any jokes about this. Not even a single peep.
[Especially if you're someone who eats tater tot hotdish ground mush.]
The snooze button
For a million odd reasons I'm going to slow things up around here for, at the very least, a little while. I have no plans to quit taking photos and will most certainly continue posting daily to my photoblog, but for the time being I'm going to halt regular posting on this site. Life happens and it's time for my little website to have a vacation of its own.
With that said, the odd link may still find its way here now and then.
I know, who am I kidding? I'll probably be back in a week or two yip yapping about some thing or another, or be back under the guise of her-postingness with all the posting just so I have a reason to put up a new design (seriously, I've got about 6 just sitting around).
Now get out and enjoy the nice spring weather. Scoot!
See you guys soon!