Tag: photography

uplifting through adversity

I spent last night at Lung’s place being wined and dined with David and Claire and writing a glossy, shiny happy proposal article for Reader’s Digest about Slab City, where we were staying by the Salton Sea. Considering that Slab City is essentially a small town comprised of poor and crazy people pushed out to the ultimate margins of society, it was pretty tricky. Not only did I have to write in the sappy, almost vapid style of Reader’s Digest, I had to gloss over anything untoward. Nigh impossible, but I think I succeeded. By the time I was done, I had a rough article draft which failed to note any of the incest, open meth use, unbalanced people suffering from mental illness, or the terrifying number of sex offenders. Instead it talked about how great our friends are. It was pretty awesome, like looking at the moon with a microscope.

Via Lung today:

Very hard at work putting together an article for a magazine. Typical photographer’s home office scene just prior to the lingerie pillow fight:

because strawberries taste like kissing

Gnarls Barkley’s Crazy Star Wars Tribute.

Today we’re going to be painting more, this time a sweet strawberry daiquiri colour, rather than warm pumpkin orange. (Nicole single-handedly finished the orange last night.) By tomorrow the room will be ready enough for us to move the bookshelves back in and begin unpacking the library out of the improbably towering stacks of relentless boxes.

We’re finishing the the kitchen the same colour tonight, too, which makes me powerfully glad. I’ve had a paint chip tacked to the wall for months, constantly reminding me of just how much stuff is always on my To-Do list. Having two big things swiped off in the same twenty-four hours will feel like a minor miracle.

Of course, now that the painting’s almost finished, I’m starting to look harder at putting my wallpaper up. I bought a wallpaper installation kit at Home Depot when Ray and I were there last night buying paint. All I need now is a packet of glue, some good internet instructions, and a steady-handed Saturday.

An A Cappella Tribute to John Williams.

under the floor are the rats and mouse

affirming

We held hands on the bus a lot our first day, as we travelled into unknown relationship territory, glad, fried, tired, and scared. As I said before, our trip back east was truly make or break. We would either come out of it with a lot of our problems fixed or we would come out of it as single people, ready to give up and go our own ways, understanding that we were just not that compatible.

Today we got up, and David made French toast for us while I processed pictures of our trip. Nicole came over, then my mother Vicki, then Ray, to share breakfast, to give presents, (I gave Vicki an orange keyhole scarf for her birthday), and paint the spare room. Our home is ours, and it is a social place, vibrant, with cozy pets and enough comfortable throw pillows for a small army of interior decorators to attack an encampment. (I have a bit of a problem, actually. I just can’t say no to awesome little pillows.) We are a we, stronger for having been forced together with no escape, stronger for spending some days inescapably without any contact. Whatever uncertainty we had was blasted away by the proof of our survival. There are a lot of reasons we shouldn’t be together, but not enough reasons or strong enough reasons to break us apart. Looking at him now, as he examines some of the terrifying things in the fridge that Karen left behind, while our friends are painting in the other room, helping our apartment become a home, and we all listen to my mad, wonderful ex-boy on the stereo sing and play an electrically wired cowboy boot, I’m glad he’s here. I’m glad I found him, and I’m glad I found me.