Shooting

Sometimes I notice it. The fact that I am not doing it anymore. Shooting. Like I did before. I attended my fifteen year high school reunion last night and when catching up with people, I found it strange to tell them I was a photographer. I don't feel I can use the term "photojournalist" anymore. I am not shooting journalism. I set my own schedule. I am my own boss. That's nice. I make clients happy by capturing moments in their life and people in those lives. I teach. But not being able to say that I am a newspaper photojournalist made me feel less accomplished last night, even though I have many years of (successful) newspaper shooting behind me, as well as some recognitions for those photographs taken.

Today, I was watching a video on The Post's website. A story featuring a family in need. HERE. About half-way through, I heard it. That sound. The heavy, important clunk of a journalist's still camera. It is the same camera I use, but it is capturing something different than what I capture now. It's clunking in an effort to help someone in need. To help others learn the story of another. And I must confess, not having the heavier click coming from my camera somehow makes me feel less. I have the click but I miss the clunk.

Candles on the Tree

Every year, my family hosts a holiday party during which we light real candles on our freshly cut Christmas tree. It is a very nice tradition. Some guests choose ornaments near a candle and if their candle is the last one to be blown out because it's at the very end of it's candling life, they get to make a wish.
It's fun. And pretty. So, today my Mom and I works to take some photos that would work on our invitations for the party.

This one's being printed on the back in a smaller size.

Showing (Strange) Thanks

Email I just sent to a guy I emailed with a bit through The Onion dating site...

Hi, J,

So, this is a bit of a strange email so I apologize ahead of time.
I was IMing with a guy from the Onion tonight. I had IMed with him last night and he seemed like a nice guy. Smart, funny, etc. After chatting for a bit tonight, he asked me when I was last in a relationship. It's been a while, so I didn't really want to tell him, but, since I'm so freaking honest, I did. He literally responded with, "Wow, that's kind of a red flag". So, I defend myself a bit, FL was a dating whole, I've been busy trying to get my business going and breaking my collar bone, so forth. He goes on to say how that (the amount of time) surprises him because I seem cool, intelligent, cute, blah blah blah.

To make a long story short - too late - after chatting a little longer, he basically disappears with no warning whatsoever. 'Stops IMing and logs off. As if the information he's just learned is the same as learning I have leprosy and didn't have the decency to put that in my profile.

Last week you said you would email me after you had your second date and I wasn't sure you would. But, you did. You actually sent me an email when you said you would. It helped me feel like there are actually courteous people out there. Somewhere. (Which is saying a lot after I let, like, five cars cut in front of me yesterday when I was driving through the city and I didn't get one thank you wave. Not one!)

I know, it's strange for me to thank you again, but it is Thanksgiving, so, it seemed as good a time as any.

Happy Turkey Day,
CS

It's In The Ears

His ear fractures me. The way it's flopped up over the arm of the bed. My brother calls them pork chops.

Overheard at Target Yoday

Little boy, "I wanna get something."
Mom - "We're not getting anything."
Boy - "Well then why are we here?"

Medical Advancements, my Foot

Dear Minimed (makerof my insulin pump),
You are a pharmaceutical company. You have plenty of money, I'm sure, and plenty of smart people working for you. Being diabetic sucks and I am grateful for the medical advancements which have made my life easier. If you could go one step further and make your CareLink (an online program which takes the info from my pump, uploads it into a computer and charts the information) Mac friendly, I would be grateful. Then, I could actually take full advantage of the advancements I paid so much money for.
Also, please get an email address in your online "contact us" options. It's a bit ridiculous that a medical company claiming to be at the cusp of scientific advancement doesn't have an email address in it's contact us options section online.
Thanks,
Cydney

Need A Good Story?

Thanks to John for this one!

Super Fast Speed Date

Tonight, I got gussied up and went into the city to try some speed dating. Speed dating is organized over the web. You sign-up, show to the spot, in this case a restaurant, and you have a three minute date with each guy before your switch to the next guy. You are also given a for so you can take notes about each date. I did this years ago when I was working at the Post and a coworker was going to write about it and asked a few of her friend, me included, to join for the evening. It was fun. After online dating on and off over the years, I am tired. And I felt meeting ten to fiteen guys in one night would be a far ore efficiant use of my time! Plus, who can't have a conversation for three minutes with someone?

Tonight, however, there were twelve women and four men. A half hour after it was supposed to start the organizer gathered the women around and said, defeated, "well, we're still going to do it, but you'll have, like, a ten minute wait between dates". She told us that if anyone wanted to not participate tonight, they would get credited for the next speed dating event. One woman asked, "Well, is there a way we can do it where the women can kind-of network while they wait?"

I'm thinking, smart, the hostess can pull out four women to have their dates and the others can chat it up together. Then, the next four have their dates and so on.

The host however, didn't really get it, "Oh yeah, you can get together and compare your notes (about the guys) if you like."

Are women that shallow that they would gather around and compare notes about a guy they just met? Clearly not what the woman was going for when she asked the hostess her question. And clearly none of these women thought that was a god idea because there was reactional laugh that clearly said, "What did she just say?"

I opted out. There was something vulturish about staying to try and talk for three minutes with these four guys.

So, I left with about six other women (great for those who stayed!). I met a few ladies who had also just bowed-out of the wonderful opportunity to sit around all night to talk to four (measley as far as the number is concerned) guys, and I joined them at the bar. We talked about the event and how it's probably harder to find guys who will participate in speed dating. Men are not liekly to turn to a friend and say "Hey, wanna try speed dating on Wednesday?" Plus, I noticed there was a Celtics game playing on the TV at the bar.

I told the women we needed to start playing basketball. That's how we would meet guys. Or at least that feels like it's the only way it will happen - by joining a local watering hole-sponsored softball league.

Our conversation went to online dating, and one of the ladies talked about how it seems you have to go on a million dates to find the right guy "It becomes like number thing" she said, explaining that it wasn't like a pick-and-choose kind of thing, but rather, you just have to try and try and try.

It reminded me of last night when I was with my neighbors and playing a Wii skeet shooting game with their five year old. Bella never really aimed at the targets. She just shot in rapid succession at the screen.

And that sums it up. Dating is like Wii skeet shooting.

It's Baaack.

This is my favorite routine from last night's So You Think You Can Dance. It's a contemporary by Stacey Tootie (I think), with Legacy and kathryn. Very cool.

Press the play button at the bottom left of the clip.

If it doesn't play, do a google search for "Kathryn Legacy, SYTYCD contemporary, fear"

Noahsitting

Oh, how I love this cute little boy!

Noahsitting from C.M. Scott on Vimeo.