Posts from the ‘commute’ Category
There are different kinds of scary. And if I had to choose what kind of scary I like to be, it would definitely be raccoon scary. I know some of you might think that if I had to be scary, why would I waste it on raccoon scary as opposed to something more popular, like zombie scary or rabid bear scary or mountain lion scary. Don’t get me wrong, I did think about those possibilities. But I felt that aiming for raccoon scary was a little more attainable, with the right attitude and frame of mind of course.
It was a lot easier to be raccoon scary than I was led to believe. I show up in other people’s kitchens after midnight and ruffle through all their shit. I love going through canned goods, searching for crisp apples in the refrigerator, and it’s always a treat to find those rare, sweet figs that are like nine dollars each at the food co-op. The other day I went into a kitchen and broke open the flour and threw rice and dry pasta all over the ground. I don’t know why I did it. It varies from night to night.
The one thing that does give me a hang up from time to time is if I’m confronted and questioned about my presence in “their” kitchen. It doesn’t often end well. I give my, “This is my place!” speech but that often fails. I’m asked to leave, I’m yelled at, I approach slowly, they threaten to call the police, and then I jump at them out of nowhere and ruffle my hands through their hair and clothes while they flail and scream. That’s the part I could do without.
Did last year bring you down? Well, you’re not the only one.
I get these thoughts that the years have not been kind to me at all.
Was I there by the grace of chance or was she?
What I find interesting is that the most vitriolic of critics against Taylor Swift are the same ones who love the acoustic youtube covers of her songs. You can spot them pretty easily on youtube. They’ll say things like:
“This song would be so AWESOME if you sang this . . .”
“I don’t know how Taylor Swift is famous and you’re not . . .”
“I first heard this song before I heard the Taylor Swift version of it . . .”
“You sing it the way this song is supposed to be sang . . .”
But before you think I’m defending Taylor Swift and her perfect makeup and carved out of plastic look, I should make it clear that I like her in the same way that I like a road cactus or the Flying J on I-90 . . . they’re just there and part of America. You can make your own value judgments on what that says about our shared culture.
The thing is, even when you acousticize her songs with a creative cover on youtube, they’re still fucking Taylor Swift songs, no matter how good they sound.
When I was in high school, getting a car of my own was like a temporary pass to adulthood. As long as I was in the car, I was free of the nagging and all the other host of real and imagined teenage obligations and expectations. But as I got older, the car was a means to an end, a necessary bill so that I could get groceries from Costco, avoid the rain and snow on the walk to the metro, or to avoid Delta Airlines so that I could drive eight hours to see family. But sometimes all that noise goes to the wayside when I’m not driving, just sitting in the back, looking out the window, with neither obligation or duty to talk to anyone. That’s my temporary pass to childhood.
You want to go to law school?
I went to a third-tier law school and I still owe over $100,000. And I’ve been paying it since 2001. I’m also trying to pay extra each month to bring the principal down. But the Access Group keeps fucking with the numbers, and applies all the extra payments to interest.
I also have trouble maintaining normal conversations with lay people.
My life revolves around watching The Walking Dead on AMC on Sunday nights. There are no more shows until February.
I should have went to SUNY Buffalo.
you know the feeling you get when you knock on a door and nobody answers?
I don’t think I’d catch a grenade for you, or throw my hand on a blade for you.
12/03/2014
Rufus Mangrove
I don’t consider myself selfish, but I don’t think I’d catch a grenade for another person or throw my hand on a blade for another person. And I’m certainly not going to jump in front of a train for another person, even a family member. I mean, what the fuck would that do? Nothing.
And while I like attention just like the next person, I wouldn’t want a person to tell me they would go through pain or put a bullet in their brain or die for me. I don’t need that kind of pressure in my life right now.
Photography is hard, even though the cameras they make now make it seem as though taking pictures is easy. I can’t think of any other pursuit where you’re always thinking, “What can I capture next?” or “Where can I capture it?” or “Do I have the right fucking lens on?” on an almost continual basis. It can become manic and frustrating. And what other pursuit can you consistently fail 99 percent of the time, and that’s just with the shots you took. How much quiet desperation did you feel when you were on the street and missed the shot? When you’re playing football, and you drop the catch, at least everyone knows it. But when you’re a photographer, you share the pain and failure alone, and without anyone knowing that you were there and you missed it. Sometimes, it may seem that nothing is working or that there’s nothing to shoot. Keep going. Shoot for yourself. In the end, it is the discipline that will keep you going in light of the failures, not motivation.
e v e r y d a y aperture 