Mark

I just received some very sad news that one of my coworkers, Mark Schwed was found dead in his home this morning. It was strange to read the words. Strange how one's brain processes information. I could feel my mental wheels turning.

I reread the email, registered his face in my head. I hadn't worked with him much but I remember him vividly. I think that's because he had such a friendly way about him. When I worked with him, I knew he was interested in his subject. He seemed to like what he did, enjoyed talking to people, too. I actually haven't worked with many who are that way, oddly enough.

I illustrated a story about six generations of a Riviera Beach family that still all lived area. He helped corral everyone into one room for a giant group shot, and I can see him now, this one white guy in the back of the room full of blacks. The family was warm and jovial, and they laughed when I told Mark he stood out in the back there (and needed to move).

Years ago, we were sent to the weather headquarters in Miami following a hurricane. I remember it was his birthday, because the assignment was taking so long, he was concerned about meeting up with his family for his birthday dinner. Years later, I passed him in the hall around the same time, maybe even the same date. I wished him happy birthday because, for some reason, I'd remembered. It must have been the hurricane anniversary that triggered my memory.

"How did you know?!" he asked, surprised. I reminded him of our assignment years ago.

I didn't really know him, but I'm very sad he's gone. I keep wondering to myself if it's that fraction of middle schooler that still exists within all of us, that leads me to be sad about it. That adolescent drama streak. But, no, now that I think about it, he was just a very cool person with a big smile and I liked him. And that's that.

Capa's Cache

I especially like that there was a woman shooting with Capa and some of her images are with his. Interesting as I've never heard of her.

Click here.

Blue as in Blah

Here's the thing about being Diabetic. It sucks! I met with my endocrinologist today. She's great, but me gaining a few pounds since my last visit? Not great. Me not eating terribly healthy? Also not great. I mentioned to her that I have been feeling a bit mediocre and that I'm working on that. She said that yes, depression was common in diabetics because...

"Because it completely blows?!" I wanted to finish her sentence but managed to refrain.

Does anyone else eat more than necessary when they are feeling slightly depressed? We're not talking lying in fetal position depressed, I'm talking blue with a shot of bored added in for good measure. Well, I do, and I have a small spare tire made of cheesecake to prove it.

Get a hobby, you say? Well, I'm on it. I am now taking a guitar class through the Community Education program here and hopefully, it will help me keep my hands on the strings of my guitar and off the string cheese. We'll see. I am collecting audio of my progress so you will have the pleasure of being exposed to my (lack of) skill at some point in the coming weeks. I promise to edit tightly.

Taking classes is a funny thing. I take them because I am interested to learn, but at the same time, isn't it just passing the time? Sometimes I feel like I am biding my time til I meet someone who's wonderful and great in every way and then they can entertain me and I can finally take a break because I'm getting bored of myself, for crying out loud!

Does anyone else buy things they don't really need when they are feeling depressed? Well, I do. Fortunately, I'm finding some good buys, like $21 on three sweaters I bought at Old Navy last week. I live in Florida? Where it's warm all the time? You don't say! I don't care. I liked them. I bought them. Get over it. It's my closet and I'll cram shit in it if I want to. 'Cause buying stuff totally makes a person feel better. Or...not. At least I don't have terribly expensive taste. I can be grateful for that.

I'm also finding it nearly impossible to find some replacement loafer/oxford type shoes for work. Crickey, how hard can this be, people! I've been ordering shoes online which is really a drag. Can't I just find the shoes I want at the local DSW? No. Apparently size 9.5s are about as rare as an albino frog in a bathing suit.

By the way, I would be totally stoked to find an albino frog in a bathing suit!

Yesterday I got two pairs of shoes in the mail. One pair was fine. I'll keep them. I went to send the other pair, of course they were the cheaper ones, back today. It cost me $10.50 to return a pair of $30 shoes. Where's the GD justice, I ask you!

Before Bath and After Bath

I don't even know what this expression is aside from hilarious!

Cutest Trio Ever!

You Dirty Dog

Not since the Great Poop Indecent of 2006 has my dog been as dirty as he is this evening (the above photo may not do it justice. Trust me, he's grubby). Why not bathe him, you ask? Well, because A. I am presently lazy, and B. It's actually kind of cold here and in addition to being lazy I've become a temperature wimp (I bathe him with the hose outside).

I took Oliver for nice walk on Palm Beach this late afternoon and then we went to the dog park. He was very playful with the other dogs which was nice. Generally, he's what psychologists would refer to as a "parallel player". He'll say hello to the other dogs then wander off to look for lizards, ignoring the other dogs for the remainder of the park visit.

Maybe it's too chilly out now and he knows all the lizards are gone so he might as well get along with the other four-legged hairy ones already.

I do wish I'd brought my little video camera because his body language on a few occasions was different than I've seen. Head and front legs low to the ground, butt way up in the air, waving back and forth with the frenzy and inertia of his tail. C'mon, play! I dare you! His head would gesture dramatically, all the while staying in this playing pose, his ears flapping with his nodding head.

He got into the dirt with his friends and I brought him home with a grey Pigpen cloud mingling around him, like a real dog. Not the prissy self-cleaning one I know, own and love.

The visit was not without it's humping however. At one point, I almost said out-loud, (but didn't because I didn't want to offend the dog owner with my bias) "Oliver, let's not hump the 120 pound rotweiler who can bite your head off like an impatient toostie pop lover!"

One girl, who looked familiar, turned to me after she heard me say to my humping boy "Oliver, you don't make friends that way!".

"I knew I remembered that dog!" she laughed and turned to another dog owner, "I knew the minute I saw him doing that that I knew him!" she said, adding genuinely "He's such a sweet dog!"

Yup, I'm proud.

I Love It To Death handbag

Untitled

I've been feeling very blah today. No plans with friends as of yet. I went with Mr. Oliver to the green market this morning but my mood and energy were dragging so much that I just managed to buy myself some strawberries before trudging back to the car in a fog. 'Ever feel like your feet are giant lead marshmallows?

I stayed up late last night cleaning the apartment in hopes it would help me feel better to not have crap all over the place. After being up for about an hour this morning, it seems the mess is all back. I feel like invisible elves dump my shit out when I turn my back. Turns out I'm the elf. I tidies some more, did some laundry, flipped the matress. Perhaps I'll go get the car washed later.

I am trying to motivate to do some sewing. Sometimes being productive in that way helps. As I set up my stuff and clear some sewing space, I listen to my answering machine turn on over and over. Automated messsages asking me to hold, that I'm a very important customer and they want to talk to me, are recorded over and over. I listen while some annoying telelmarketer comes over the line, speaking to no one, "Hello, may I speak with Cydney Scott?".

Uh, no.

The dog whimpers whenever the machine comes on and he hears my voice on it, again, "Hi, I'm not hear right now, please leave a message".

I just got this email from a friend though, and it made me chuckle, so I thought I'd make you chuckle, because maybe your feet feel like lead marshmallows, too.